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perlelune · 5 months

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no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | i.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Birdsong fills your ears as you meticulously unearth the last few weeds in the soil. Careful to not damage the stems, you pull gently while barely disturbing the dirt. The last step is pruning. With ginger motions, you cut each crooked branch pointing in the wrong direction. Beads of sweat drip down from your forehead into the soil.

The heat from the sun is unforgiving today.

But you welcome the labor, even with the sweltering weather. Time flies when you spend it in the garden.

It’s a welcome distraction, the kind you’ve sorely craved as of late. Idleness does you no good. It often ends with you curled beneath your blankets, drowning in a puddle of your own tears.

Each day you wake up hoping none of it was real.

The harsh reality swiftly claims its right however.

It’s everywhere. All the painful little reminders.

The empty chair at the dinner table. All the spots he loved in the house, now desolate without him. His untouched room, lacking the messiness he usually favored.

And there’s all the times you turn, words tingling on your tongue, hoping he’ll be there to listen to you as always.

Then you remember.

Your brother can never listen to you again. And neither will you listen to him.

You’ll never hear his stupid laugh again or his crazy stories.

And your whole life you’ll turn, hoping to see him standing right there, beside you, but he will not be here.

Your grip on the shears loosen. They hit the vibrant green grass with a quiet thud.

You lift your eyes to admire your handiwork.

The garden looks nice; the flowers are thriving. The roses in particular.

They have bloomed wonderfully this year, having blushed to a gorgeous scarlet.

Your heart sinks.

If only Sejanus were here to see it. Your brother spent most of his life helping you tend to this garden. Whenever he wasn’t busy at the Academy or with the various tasks Strabo had for him, your brother was here, with you.

You both worked in silence, basking in the warmth of the sun and the pleasure of each other’s company.

The garden turns into a watercolor rainbow before you as your eyes well up with tears.

“We have company, sweetie.”

You swivel towards the familiar airy tone your mother often uses. She often emphasizes the importance of poise and decorum in every situation. Even in the current situation, your mother’s held her head high. Still, you don’t miss the subtle red rims around her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks.

Like you, she’s suffering. While you may not share blood with your family, having been adopted when you were three, your bond with your mother has always been as strong as if she gave birth to you.

Confusion has your brows collide into each other.

“Company? We weren’t expecting anyone.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, gripping your shoulders. Heartbreak flashes in her eyes, the same soulful ones as her departed son. “I’m hurting too, but you can’t hide forever.”

She cups your face and advises, “Go put on a nice dress, and wash up some. You have dirt on your face.” Disapproval pinches your mother’s features as she gauges your disheveled appearance. She sighs. "You know you don’t have to do that. This is what we have staff for."

Help. You suppose your mother refers to the Avoxes who tend to the yard sometimes. The sight of them fills you with rage and disgust.

Just one of the Capitol’s many crimes against its own people. Who would even clip someone’s tongue as punishment, then have them serve their tormentors?

It’s beyond vile and sadistic. But what else to expect from a place that openly sponsors child murder?

At times, you feel as if you’re living amongst beasts masquerading as human beings.

Still, you feign nonchalance. Some opinions cannot be voiced aloud, even to your parents. Especially to your parents.

"It calms me down," you explain, shedding your gloves and removing your wide-brimmed hat.

“Sweetie…”

She gives you yet another lecture on proper ladylike behavior. As usual, you only listen with half an ear, checking out about five minutes into her querulous spiel.

You’ve heard it at least a million times before. Still, you indulge her like the dutiful daughter you are.

She then reminds you to get dressed. You don’t have to be told twice.

You head to the back door connecting the garden to your room.

While you do as you’ve been instructed, inquiries crowd your mind. Your parents haven’t been too fond of visitors lately. Besides, what kind of company requires you to dress up?

As you head to your massive closet, you wonder who’d visit your family at such a time.

Your mother’s refrained from entertaining altogether and your father’s poured all his energy in his business, turning down most social calls.

You randomly pick a dress, a pale blue one with a sweetheart neckline, before making your way downstairs.

Faint chatter echoes from the sunroom near your father’s office. You follow the hushed voices.

Astonishment rushes through you when you realize who’s having tea with your father.

You haven’t seen him since reaping day.

“Coriolanus?” you gasp.

He stands to his full height at the sound of you calling his name. Your surprise multiplies.

He seems so…different, yet you can’t pinpoint what exactly about him elicits that impression within you. After all, he's still the same tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, dashing young man you knew before.

But something has changed. You can feel it.

Even the air around him moves in a different way, it seems.

He makes his way to you, surprising you further by grabbing your hand and brushing his lips over the back of it.

“You look lovely,” he mumbles, cobalt eyes finding yours.

Warmth rushes to your cheeks. You don’t remember Coriolanus ever being so…chivalrous.

“T-Thank you,” you stammer.

“I’ll let you two kids catch up,” your father states, nodding at the blond before taking his leave.

“How are you holding up?” the young man asks, escorting you to a nearby bench.

It occurs to you that he’s still holding your hand, his long slender fingers curled around yours. Cheeks aflame once again, you draw it back and tuck it in your lap.

Coriolanus’ brow twitches at your tiny gesture.

“I…Dad said you were the one who brought the box with his things. That was so thoughtful of you.”

A subtle smile spreads on his lips.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it means a lot,” you insist, shaking your head. “Any part of him it’s…it’s important to keep it.”

You fidget as he studies you, his crystalline gaze unreadable.

“But you have the most important part with you all the time. In the end it’s all we have, right? Our memories.”

Your heart swells with warmth. He’s right, you surmise. After all, every memory of your brother is yours. Forever. They will never be taken away.

You’re a little taken aback though. Who knew Coriolanus Snow to be so sentimental?

“Thanks, Coryo.”

His mouth tenses at the nickname but his tight-lipped smile expands. You used to call him that when you were little, having witnessed Tigris do it. It stuck and he never corrected you.

“I missed you. I think the last time you came to our house you were like seven or eight, right?” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Janus had to drag you there. He kept asking and you always said no.”

He shrugs.

“All the other kids were picking on him. I didn’t want to make it worse for him.”

Your voice softens. “But you never did. Pick on him I mean.” They may not have been the closest but you remembered how much it meant to Sejanus at the time, that at least one kid in his class wasn’t harassing him for being from a district. While some thought he was merely upholding the grace befitting his name and status, you believed otherwise. You’ve always been convinced that beneath the sturdy layer of indifference he drapes over himself, Coriolanus is kinder than he seems. He was kind to you after all.

He spoke to you many times, even playing with you when many other children wouldn’t. Over the years, you grew a bit apart but he’s always been sweet whenever you ran into each other.

“So, what have you been up to?” he asks, changing the subject.

You sigh. “Not much,” you admit. “Gardening, reading, going to class. The preparations for the wedding take up most of my time anyway.”

His jaw ticks as a slight crease appears on his forehead.

“A wedding? Are you helping someone plan their wedding?”

“No…It’s for my wedding actually.”

Your engagement ring glimmers, catching the sunlight as you show it to him.

Coriolanus’ frown deepens.

“You’re engaged? I didn’t realize.”

Enthusiastic, you nod. “Yeah, he’s amazing. We met at Uni. Dad doesn’t like him too much though.”

This seems to catch his interest, his head leaning sideways.

“Is that so?”

“His family’s from the districts…and Dad said his breeding will drag down to our name.”

Just saying it boils your blood. How hypocritical of your father when the Plinth house had its roots in District 2. Sometimes, it stuns you how far your father’s strayed from the plight of his own people, going as far as sponsoring and financing the barbaric practice the Hunger Games are.

Sejanus never stood for it, rightfully so.

It’s one of the many reasons you miss him. He never embraced the horrors of Panem, fighting against your father’s plans for him at every turn. In the end, it even got him killed.

“He just wants what’s best for you." He pauses, plucking your hand from your lap. His long fingers twine with yours. His tone dips, oozing concern. "I do too. You deserve the best. I hope you know that.”

A wave of emotions engulfs you. You don’t notice you’ve begun shedding tears until he reaches up to your face, using his thumbs to collect them.

You give a watery smile.

“Thank you. For everything. For the box. For coming.”

He traces your tear-stained cheek with his finger.

“I should have reached out more," he says, glistening blue eyes locking with yours.

Your hands cover his. You never expected in a million to hear such words leaving Coriolanus’ mouth. He’s always been so…aloof.

This is the kind of change you can only welcome. You often hoped Coriolanus would open himself more to others.

“It’s okay. We can catch up now. Make up for lost time," you chime.

His lips twist upward. "Right. We have all the time in the world."

Struck with the abrupt realization of your closeness, the way he cups your face being easy to misconstrue for an onlooker, you scoot backwards and clear your throat.

Flames tickle your cheeks.

You’d be lying if you said you never harbored a little crush on the handsome heir of House Snow growing up. He on the other end, never seemed to notice you, his attention always on girls like Clemmie or Arachne. It makes sense, you suppose. They are, after all, cut from the same cloth. Bonded by generations upon generations of hoarded wealth and an elusive code of rules and conduct you never fully grasped.

The mere way you hold a cup of tea gives you away.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re older now and about to get married. You can’t wander the wistful lands of childhood fantasies anymore.

So while keeping a careful distance, you offer solemnly, “I… Dad is attending this fundraiser tonight…to funnel the promotion funds for the next Hunger Games." Your brow furrows as disdain coats your tone. You can’t believe plans to repeat this ghastly tradition are being set in motion. "I didn’t want to go but he wants the family to present a strong front."

You pointedly omit to speak of your father’s blackmail and all he threatened to take from you if you didn’t show up, starting with the roof over your head.

See how well you fare as district trash, how long it takes you to crawl back home and beg for scraps.

You discard Strabo’s harsh warning to the deepest recesses of your mind. While you know he loves you, he also doesn’t tolerate any misstep from you. They took you in after all, saved you from a life of misery. Otherwise you’d have grown up an orphan. Instead, you get to live a lavish, easy existence in the lap of luxury, now the heir apparent to the Plinth fortune since Janus has passed.

You’re grateful, of course, for all they gave you. You just hate having to forsake your origins and partake passively in the slaughter of innocent children. Once you’re at the helm of the company, you’ll do everything in your power to stir up change. Every tidal wave begins with a small ripple. Perhaps one day all those tiny ripples will come together and form a tsunami, one that’ll wash away the sins of the Capitol and too many years of injustice.

"You should come. I could introduce you to my fiancé,” you offer.

Hopefully seeing both of them in one place will cement which one of them is your past and which one is your present. You don’t like the way a single touch from him flustered you so easily.

While you’re thrilled to resume your friendship with him, you and Coriolanus can never be more than that.

Besides the obvious matter of your impending nuptials, the two of you are so different. There has to be someone out there for him, some lucky girl that’ll make him so happy. And you bet he’ll make her happy too.

One thing's for sure however. That girl isn’t you.

Coriolanus sizes you up before giving a slow reply.

“I look forward to it,” he says.

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #tbosbas #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!fic #tbosas fanfiction

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chronicowboy · 10 days

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Buck doesn't know how long they sit there in that café just talking. He's never had that before. The last time he'd done this, sat across from Natalia in the midday sun, he'd been excruciatingly aware of every passing minute as he tried to be fascinating to her, spun yarns of deaths and near-deaths and deathly comas. Here, now, Buck just exists and that seems to be more than enough for Tommy.

Tommy who hangs on his every word like Buck is the next Shakespeare even as he's rambling about rainbow emojis and allyship. Tommy whose smile is so big and wide that it carves the most beautiful caverns into his face that Buck kind of wants to live in. Tommy who grimaces every time he sips the coffee Buck bought him but dutifully drinks the whole thing over the course of their date even when Buck tells him he doesn't have to. Tommy who keeps muffling yawns into his fist every five minutes having just gotten off a twenty-four hour shift like he'd stay in that uncomfortable metal seat forever if he could.

It's the best second date of his life, so when Buck tells him to go home and get some sleep, he doesn't resist the urge to prolong the date for the few moments it takes him to walk Tommy to his car. With anyone else, so soon into whatever this might turn out to be, Buck would worry that it's too much too soon. But Tommy has been so loud in his affection even with how gentle he's made sure to stay. Buck wants to be as free in his wanting as Tommy as is, so he reaches out and slips his fingers between Tommy's, damn near euphoric when they begin to swing between them as they walk.

It takes a moment to drag his eyes up to Tommy's face, caught up in the feeling of a hand in his. It's not the first time he's held a hand, far from it. Not even the first time he's held a man's hand. But this isn't Eddie letting him squeeze his fingers as he screams in pain. This isn't Taylor indulging him every now and then. This is Tommy smiling softly down at their hands like he's as mesmerised by it as Buck is, the tips of his ears growing pink and sending a giddy thrill of satisfaction through him.

"Can I ask you something?" Tommy says, giving Buck's hand a happy little squeeze.

"Don't think there's a limit on second date questions," Buck replies.

"Evan." And, Jesus, there's something about the way Tommy says his name. Even when it's that chiding little tone that should remind him of his parents, all he feels is an overwhelming warmth, all he can hear is fondness.

"Of course you can." Buck grins and watches Tommy's smile crinkle his face all over again like he just can't help it.

"Why'd you choose that abomination of a coffee for me?" And Buck groans just to hear Tommy laugh. "Really? What even was that?"

"Black coffee four sugars," Buck mumbles, kicking a stone across the sidewalk sheepishly.

"Jesus, Evan." Tommy's laugh is something special, loud and unrestrained and the sound of sunshine maybe. "Why?"

"I-I don't know, I panicked!" Buck doesn't realise he's drifting away from Tommy until the man pulls him back in by their joined hands, and Buck lets the bump of their shoulders calm him. "Just thought, you know..." Buck turns towards Tommy's car, but Tommy drags him gently towards the Jeep, leaning against the door when they reach it.

"You just thought..."

"I don't know." He shrugs, heat rising to his cheeks under the weight of Tommy's bright-eyed attention, lowers his voice all the way. "It reminded me of you."

"What was that?" Tommy grins, using the excuse to move in a little closer.

"It reminded me of you," Buck repeats, clearer this time, more confident. "You know, bit foreboding on the outside, but all sweet on the inside."

"Christ, you really are adorable," Tommy breathes, sounding as effected as Buck feels.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies swarms in his stomach, delightfully unfamiliar to him but already intoxicating, almost addicting.

It's not two men stood on a busy sidewalk in the middle of the day then. It's just Buck and someone he really fucking likes, someone he hasn't been able to stop thinking about for a week, someone he's only kissed once somehow. And suddenly that's a fact that absolutely should be rectified.

Buck steps forward, leaning up just ever so slightly on his toes, and kisses Tommy right there in the middle of LA. And it just feels right. Overwhelming in the best of ways. It's a quick press of lips, something more suited to the schoolboy he feels than the very adult man he is, not the kiss he wants but the kiss they both need. Chaste and lovely. A hello again. A beginning.

Tommy's free hand ghosts against his jaw, a flutter of a touch as Buck falls back onto his heels and takes a breath. It takes Tommy a few moments to open his eyes which means Buck gets to watch them flutter open, dazed and delighted.

"Get some sleep, Tommy," Buck tells him, finally letting go of his hand with a squeeze. "Text me when you wake up."

"Yessir," Tommy murmurs.

And Buck can't resist another kiss then, just as quick and chaste, anything else dangerous to Buck's self-restraint, before he unlocks the Jeep and climbs in. Tommy waves him off, and Buck glances back just in time to see Tommy's hand falling down to his lips as if to chase Buck's touch.

#sami rambles #i had lots of feelings about the coffee order #this is for elke <33333 #the amount of inspiration ive got from our silly little dms....#911 show #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #buck x tommy #911 fic #911 ficlet #bucktommy fic #buck x tommy fic #bucktommy ficlet

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dumplingsjinson · 7 months

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List of random dialogue prompts (pt. 2)

“If you felt want and longing the way I did — the way I still do — I promise you’d be driven fucking mad.”

“I wanted the thrill of the chase more than I wanted you.”

“You really couldn’t have been any more obvious.” “That’s because I didn’t have anything to hide. I was being obvious, because I needed you to know, without a doubt, that I love you.”

“This is literally the worst moment for me to be saying this but considering how we could die at any second, I need to get this off my chest before I become buried six feet under, without a chance to say any of this to you: I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I’ve loved you every second of my life; from the moment when I knew what loving someone really meant.”

“I kinda knew I lost all feelings for you when I realised I didn’t want to communicate with you about the problems that were happening between us. I became complaisant.”

“Loving you is as easy as overthinking everything.”

“It’s… easy with you. Nice. I don’t have to be someone else to impress you, because I know you love me for me.”

“There are parts of me I’d never thought I’d show to anyone else, but then… You came along, and for some reason, you made me want to be honest with you; bare my soul to you.”

“So what in the hell are we? I’m not doing this unless we’re on the same page.”

“Please don’t tell me we’re nothing to you… That I mean nothing after everything’s that happened.”

“You’re my emotional support human, and I love you so, so much.”

“If you ever need me, I’ll be right here. Just as I’ve always been.”

“I’d let you break my heart, if it means I’d get to have you for even a day.”

“You make me feel like dancing in the pouring rain wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“You’re astoundingly unhealthy for me, but do I care? No, because I wouldn’t have fallen if I cared, especially when I’m someone who’s usually so careful with whom I give my heart to.”

“…I didn’t drunk call you. It wasn’t a drunk call. I called you, perfectly sober.”

“You’re someone I want to tell things to.”

“What’s more important to me is that I’m your last love.”

“This… This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

“Falling in love wasn’t on the agenda.” “Do you mean falling in love with me out of all people wasn’t on the agenda?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m kind of in love?”

“…I want all of you. On top, under, whatever — I don’t care, I just want you.”

“Maybe I can help you forget about them.”

“It’s easier to pretend I’m still in love with them, than leave them in that state.” “You know you basically lying to them about your feelings is gonna hurt them more in the long run, right?”

“Why does it have to be them? Why can’t it be me?”

“I’ll give you two seconds to take that back.”

“You gotta work for it, love.”

“We can pretend that didn’t happen.” “I’m sorry, but I’m not as good of an actor as you are.”

“I don’t know how to… I’ve never done this before.” “Then follow my lead, okay?”

“I’m someone who falls in love easily, but I’m also someone who can’t get over someone as easily.”

“I want to make this work, because I don’t— I don’t want to— I can’t lose you.”

“You make me want to be a better version of myself.”

“I don’t wanna mess this up with you.” “You won’t. I promise, you won’t, so just… Do whatever. I trust you.”

“Why are you smiling at your phone?” “…I was looking at the mail app, and uh… Received some good news?”

“Because love isn’t linear. You know that, right?”

“I’m not doing this for you — I’m doing this for myself.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be that person for you.”

“I’m here to stay. At least until you want me gone, which I hope is never.”

“Chasing you is like chasing the rainbow… It’s impossible. You’re always slipping away no matter how fast I run after you.”

“Don’t give me that it’s not you, it’s me bullcrap. It’s us both. We’re both at fault for this relationship breakdown.”

“God, I just like you so, so much.”

“I think I need to get over you for me to feel better again.”

“You and your stupid smile… Stop that.”

“I just need you in me somehow, please—”

“I really hope you realised they were flirting with you.” “…They were?”

“I’ve caught feelings for you, and I know you don’t like me back that way so I just… Wanted to tell you, before I decide to let you go.”

“I’ll be here to pick up the broken pieces if that’s what you want me to do, but I’ll leave if you’re not ready for that… For something more with me.”

“I love you, but I… I don’t think I see a future with you.”

“Give me a week. A week, and I’ll be back to normal. A week, and I’ll… I’ll be over you. Just a week and you’ll have the old me back. It’s that easy, I promise.”

“I kinda wanna give myself a concussion so I can forget about you and not think about you twenty-four-seven.”

(pt. 1) | (pt. 3)

#i wrote this in january lmfao #long post #dialogue prompts #otp prompts #fluff prompts #angst prompts #smut prompts #prompts #romantic prompts #romance prompts #suggestive prompts

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mediumgayitalian · 17 days

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Will wears earrings that glint in the sunlight.

Nico is very aware of them.

He’s never seen anything like them before. Bianca wore earrings, little citrine gems that dotted both earlobes, and Hazel wears little hoops in each ear. Piper has dozens of beaded earrings she made herself. Annabeth wears little owl charms. Percy has a diamond stud, Connor’s ears are pierced all over, and Lou Ellen has gauges she’s slowly stretching out. Most people in camp have a piercing or two, really, some of them done by the Apollo or Aphrodite campers, and really sunny days they glint together like the massive disco ball that spun over the slot machines of the Lotus.

But Will’s earrings are different.

There’s no…pokey part, is the best way Nico can describe it. Each piece is a delicate gold chain, maybe two inches long each, with a thin blue sapphire hanging off one end. He threads them through the tiny holes in his lobes, and they dangle, glittering every time he moves. The sapphires refract the light when he tucks back his hair, shining an array of tiny rainbows on his neck, on his jaw.

He is distracted by them, often.

“You’re staring.”

Nico blinks, twitching back to his body. The blue sapphires he’d been staring at are replaced with blue eyes, twinkling with amusement, and he flushes.

“I was — spaced out.”

“Mhm.” Will turns back to his arts & crafts project, dragging a brushful of lavender paint over stained wood. A jewelry box, by the looks of it. “If by spaced out, you mean staring at me.”

Nico returns resolutely to his own project. His is much less delicate than Will’s — the sheath he has strapped to his calf at all times broke, last week, and he’s felt naked without his dagger — and there’s a warp in the leather, where his attention slipped. He focuses on smoothing it.

“Not on purpose.”

“No?” Coming from anyone else, the teasing tone of voice would have him raising his shoulders, twisting his face. But from Will it’s — tolerable, somehow. Perhaps it’s the hand that rests gently on his wrist. “You space out at me a lot, then. Crazy coincidence.”

Nico stars at the freckly, tanned hand, waiting for it to move. It doesn’t. Will keeps it there, callused fingers brushing gentle circles on the base of his thumb, dipping and swooping along with his quiet humming.

Nico swallows. “You’re — distracting.”

Will’s smile spreads slowly across his face; stilted, almost, like he’d tried to bite it back.

“How?”

“You’re —” Nico gestures, vaguely, at all of him. Will’s smile grows, and his cheeks slowly grow pink, blonde ringlets falling out of place and curtaining his face.

“I’m?” he presses.

His voice is soft, near silent; searching, prodding. Hoping. Nico’s breath hitches, and his palms sweat, and Will’s gentle tracing pauses, briefly. He bites his lip, worrying the chapped skin, breathing quick; in, out, in, out. In a slow, calculated movement, watching Nico carefully, carefully, out of the corner of his eyes, he slides their palms together, fingers resting loosely in the spaces of Nico’s open, twitching hand.

“…Is this okay?”

Nico feels lightheaded. He’s sure his palms are clammy, although he can’t tell against Will’s. He gnaws at his lip again. Nico’s exhales are quick, short.

He curls his fingers until they rest on Will’s cracked knuckles.

“You’re striking,” he says quietly.

Ducking his head, Will turns back to his painting. He dips his brush in a deep, blooming green, now, tracing it along the edge of the lavender.

He’s smiling.

#me back on my will wears threader earrings agenda #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #soft solangelo #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #my writing #fic #longpost

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kamiversee · 2 months

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 19 || The Halt of Something New

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, & angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 6.1k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——YOU'RE AN IDIOT.

Did you really think that everything was going to be all sunshine and rainbows just because you have a crush on a guy who treats you right?

How humorous it is for you to have been worried about Choso using you as if that's not exactly what you're doing to him. Sure, you wish things were different and that you weren't technically using him but, it's the truth-- you are using the man.

Sleeping with Choso was a requirement for you. His name was just something you needed to cross off the list, a box in which needed to be checked.

And let's not forget, you have to go on and sleep with Sukuna sooner or later. Someone who Choso's related to, according to Gojo.

How the fuck are you going to pull that off?

By now, it's been approximately two months since you've been blackmailed. Going down your accomplishments so far, out of a total of seven men, Gojo included, you've got the majority of the list completed.

After that one night with Choso, you found it extremely difficult to move on to the next guy. You weren't expecting it to be this hard but, you just couldn't leave the man alone.

You spend all of your free time texting him or on the phone with him and whenever your schedules align with one another, the two of you are within each other's company.

Those rendezvous that you had with Geto came to a stop and you ended up sleeping with Choso more than anyone else.

From your apartment, to his car, to his apartment, to his art studio, and even to a vacant janitor's closet-- you and Choso have been fucking like rabbits. The guy couldn't get enough of you.

Sex aside, he couldn't get enough of everything about you. If Gojo was right about anything; Choso did in fact grow attached to you.

Thing is, you couldn't differentiate whether or not he was attached because of the sex or because of you in general. Either way, it wasn't good.

The two of you hung out often and you only got to know him more and more and more. Choso's a wonderful person and you view him as your way out of the dark and deep hole Gojo's dragged you down into.

Even so, you can't help but feel like something about Choso is... off.

His care for you often overshines it but you simply cannot ignore how odd some of his actions or phrases to you are. For example; after the first time you slept with him and he left, how did he get back into your apartment?

You never asked him about it but you do wonder sometimes. Did he take a key before he left? Or did he simply leave your door unlocked so that he could get back in? Either way, it's odd.

Then there are those prolonged stares of his. You can feel the way he drinks in every little detail on your face. At first, you thought it was an artistic thing, thinking that maybe he admires you so intently because he sees beauty.

But over time, it really begins to feel as though Choso's inspecting you, printing your facial expressions and smallest gestures in his brain.

These moments of intimate study over your features give you wavering fluctuates of emotions in your chest. Sometimes you enjoy his expressive eyes and other times you don't.

Even so, none of it makes you like him any less, it just makes you feel like the man sees right through you. Choso makes you feel like a piece of glass, especially when you're lying to him.

As much as you can, you avoid talking about anything or anyone regarding the list when you're around him but the few times you slip up, you swear Choso is able to see through all the bullshit. That's what makes you nervous.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

A wise person once said; ignorance is bliss. Such a phase is nothing more than true for a woman such as yourself.

You believe you know a lot about Choso. You also believe you know a lot about Gojo.

But the truth is, you don't. There's a long twisted and fucked up path ahead for you but your ignorance is what keeps you in a blissful state, shielding you from the twisted truths of the feelings being harbored for you.

Honestly, it isn't difficult for one to acknowledge Choso's obvious crush on you. However, you fail to see the depths of said crush.

In the time you spend getting to know him and being around him, you end up being very transparent with him, to which he reciprocates every time. At one point you admit to Choso that you've slept with others within the time you've known him, sparing the details of who (of course).

His response to that information was that there was another girl he had relations with named Yuki but he stopped fooling around with her around the same time he started having sex with you. It was kinda messy and somewhere deep down you think you were a bit jealous but you had no right to feel that way.

And while jealousy is the topic of narration; Choso subtly lets his show every now and then.

He's aware that you and he aren't in a relationship but that never stops him from pulling your body close to his when he sees someone staring at you, or giving someone a death stare as they speak to you, or even telling someone to fuck off whenever they try hitting on you.

Is it wrong of him to do so? Technically, yes. You're not his girlfriend so he has no right. But, do you stop him from doing any of those things? No. Do you secretly enjoy seeing him act this way? Perhaps.

Even so, Choso does try to keep his jealousy over the small things at an all-time low. The last thing he wanted you to see was how far his care for you really went.

And he had it under so much control until he saw the negative effect a specific person (Gojo) has on you...

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

In all honesty, you had forgotten about the list for a while as Choso's presence and your feelings for him consumed you. At least, until Gojo texted you.

Currently, you sit in the passenger seat of Choso's car, your fingers aggressively tapping at your phone screen as your mood sours from merely one text from your blackmailer.

The vehicle is parked not too far from your apartment complex as Choso had driven you home from a day spent at the museum. He said he needed to go there for research for one of his classes and invited you along but you can't deny the fact that the whole thing felt like a date.

Even so, Choso's in the driver's seat, his ears perking up at the sound of your fingers tapping so quickly and aggravatedly across your cell phone. The man can't help the burning curiosity he feels as he glances over to you.

With tensed brows, your jaw clearly clenched, and scoff after scoff leaving you in reaction to whatever's on your phone-- Choso finds it physically impossible not to feel the need to question you.

"Are you alright over there, love?" He asks carefully after hearing your sixth sigh in a row.

You don't even look up from your phone, too engrossed in Gojo's stupid concerns for you, "Mhm, I'm fine."

"Liar." Choso points out.

A frustrated little groan leaves your lips, "I'm fine, Choso." You repeat, your voice stern.

The man tilts his head, his eyes burning into the side of your face.

He stares for a while, having no response to your repeated lie to him. After a few minutes of simply watching you text back and forth with someone, Choso scoffs and tears his eyes off you.

He pulls out his phone and tries to distract himself from you and whoever's got your attention but it's no use. Scrolling through social media is impossible to focus on when all he hears is the annoyed sounds you keep letting out and the way you dryly laugh in anger at something.

The male doesn't even know why he's so hyper-focused on you like this. More than usual, Choso finds himself picking up on every little thing about you.

There's even this feeling he gets in his chest when he sees your attention elsewhere. He wonders if it's jealousy but it couldn't possibly be that when the two of you aren't in a relationship.

Reluctantly, his eyes find their way back to you again. His vision fixates on your hands, attentively watching each letter you tap on the screen.

Choso's able to put together the words you're typing out just from watching your fingers alone, gathering the message you typed that reads; 'Don't give me that bullshit about just wanting to check up on me. I already told you not to text me like this unless it's about the-' Your fingers had stopped moving.

Both of your eyes went wide as you received a sudden call, cutting off your rant. Choso doesn't mean to be nosy like this and it's almost instinctive the way his eyes search for who's calling you, only for that curious gaze of his to be obstructed by you quickly turning your phone off and dropping the device.

A deep groan leaves your lips as your phone slips slightly in between your thighs. You let it vibrate against your skin, completely ignoring Gojo's call.

You then look over at Choso and his eyes fly up to your face.

It's awkward the way you two stare at one another. He's wondering if he seems far too nosy having been all up in your phone and you're worried that he may have seen the messages you've typed and who just called you.

"Are you uh... not gonna pick that up?" Choso questions. Evident in his tone is this carefulness, as if his words were walking on eggshells.

"No." You answer curtly, "I'm actually about to block him."

"Him?" Choso repeats thoughtlessly.

The two of you freeze.

Choso didn't mean to let that slip. His bottom lip draws into his mouth in regret, having wanted to avoid feeling jealous over nothing. In his mind, he has no reason to exhibit such emotions when you're not his girlfriend-- a fact he constantly has to repeat to himself.

The male looks away from you after saying that, visibly letting his thoughts take over his words.

"Yes Choso, him." You reply, your tone cold.

You don't want to take your frustrations out on your crush but then again, the last thing you have time for is jealousy.

Your frosty gaze peers into the side of his face as he avoids looking at you after slipping up like that.

He figures he's already let one question loose so why not continue expressing himself? "Mind if I ask who's 'him'?" Choso questions.

Your brows push together and you open your mouth to reply but after a second of thought, your mouth shuts. You'd nearly said something out of aggravation and you had to hold your tongue to prevent any negative vibes between you and Choso.

With a sigh, you look away from the man. "Do you remember the asshole I told you about weeks ago?" You ask, tone soft but still holding your stress.

Of course he remembers, how could he not? You told him about said asshole during your first phone call with him, an event in which Choso could never forget.

"The one that made you cry?" Choso asks for confirmation, his voice dry as he recalls the unnamed man you always refer to as an asshole.

You hum, "Yeah, him."

Choso steadily looks over to you, his eyes sinking down to the buzzing phone in your lap, "I see." He replies. He then lifts his eyes to your face that's turned away from him, "Still don't like him, huh?"

"I told you before, I hate him." You explain.

"Then why're you just now about to block him?" Choso questions, his tone growing more dull.

You scoff, "I'm not in the best position to where I can actually block him."

"Why not?"

"Because there are things he and I still have to work out." You explain vaguely.

Choso blinks, his eyes darkening as his mood dips into something annoyed. "Is he an ex of yours or something?" The man asks you.

You turn your head to Choso with pinched brows and a scrunched-up face, "What? No."

"Mhm, right okay so, what do you still have to work out with him that prevents you from blocking him?"

You sigh heavily and flash a clearly annoyed smile, "Choso, while I appreciate your concern for me, I really don't feel like explaining right now."

Your crush grits his teeth and visibly bites back a response to that. There's a mix of genuine care and jealousy brimming inside him.

"Right. My bad," Choso resorts to sympathy. "Just know, if you need advice, I'm right here." He says with an emphasizing scoff.

For the first time since you've met him, Choso is aggravated. You're unsure of why he's upset when you have the right to be private about the context of a man who's upsetting you.

You're not obligated to explain anything to Choso. He knows that.

Though, that's not why he's upset. As he turns his head away from you and looks out his window in thought, Choso feels displeased at how some guy has you angered and the way you won't open up to him.

There's this need you feel within you to calm Choso down so, almost instinctively, you reach a hand over to his side and place it on his thigh-- watching the way his body stills under your touch.

Choso glances down at your hand and raises a brow.

You swallow, "I know you're right here and I know you can give me advice but..." Your hand slips upward along his leg in a comforting manner, "This isn't something you can help me with."

The sound of him clearing his throat as you touch him is heard. Choso rolls his hips a little, trying to comfort himself under your touch while your hand trails up.

"How uh... How do you know?" Choso hums, just barely taking his gaze away from your moving hand.

Your eyes meet his, "Cause' it's uhm... it's personal." You explain, grinning slightly.

You then lift your hand from his leg, to which he sighs, and grab a light hold of his chin. Your thumb rubs over his smooth skin and Choso just melts into your touch.

"Oh," He says, nodding slightly, "I get it..."

"Yeah, sorry-"

"Oi," Choso cuts off as he raises his hand to yours. His eyes are serious while he shifts to kiss your palm, "What'd I tell you about that?"

You chuckle, "About what? Apologizing?"

"Mhm. There's nothing for you to be sorry about." He tells you, "I get it, it's personal."

"It's a habit," You explain simply, nearly apologizing again.

"I've noticed."

A smile spreads across your face, your mood lifting, "Have you?"

"Course' I have," Choso says.

He then moves your hand, placing it back down on his thigh with his own resting on top. His fingers gently caress your smaller ones, eyes dropping down to the sight and his expression relaxing as he does so.

The tension in the car begins to dissipate as you and Choso find solace in one another's touch. The weight of the situation lifts and you feel a little less uneasy.

The warmth of Choso's hand on yours is comforting, providing you with a moment of relaxation. He never fails to change your mood.

Choso looks up to your face, "I notice everything about you, y'know."

Your smile widens, "Do you?"

"Yeah. I try to remember as much as I can." He tells you.

You raise a brow, "Why?"

"I don't call you my muse for no reason." Choso claims, "When I say that, I mean it artistically too."

Too, you repeat mentally. He's confirming that calling you his muse has always been meant in a romantic sense previously.

"Really? So do you have more paintings of me hidden somewhere or something?" You ask jokingly.

He laughs slightly, almost as if there may be some truth to what you just said. "Somethin' like that, yeah."

"Wait seriously?" You ask, your face brightening up at the thought.

"Yes. I find myself accidentally drawing your face quite often." Choso hums, looking back down to your connected hands as the tips of his ears redden.

You lean closer to him slightly, "Aw really??"

He clears his throat, "Yes, really. Do you uh... You wanna see?"

"Of course I do!" You beam.

He can't help but stammer as your excited expression is revealed to him. The way seeing you happy has him melting immediately is almost embarrassing.

Chuckling slightly, Choso nods his head to his bag on the floor in between your legs, "I have a sketchbook in there you can look through."

You don't hesitate to move for the item, quickly removing your hand from his thigh and diving it down to the bag on the floor. You unzip it and rapidly spot the book he's referring to, taking hold of the item and pulling it out.

As you do so, your phone keeps buzzing in your lap but every notification is ignored.

With a smile on your face, you hastily open the sketchbook and the first drawing you see is a picture of someone that makes your smile flicker. It's difficult to control your facial expression when the first image shown to you looks like a younger version of Sukuna without face tattoos.

You bat your eyelashes at it and open your mouth to say something but Choso makes up for your confusion by speaking first, "That's my little brother," He explains.

"Yuji, right?" You ask in return, having remembered the name from a previous conversation with Choso.

Any chance he's gotten to talk to you about his brothers, he's taken. Well, with an exception for Sukuna. The only reason you know they're related is because of Gojo, which concerns you since Choso always finds a way to talk about his siblings to you.

A big smile spreads across Choso's face, "Yeah, you remember his name?"

"Yep." You reply proudly, "And your other brother's names are Kechizu and Eso, right?"

Oh, the man's heart is simply fluttering at the fact that you remember his brothers' names. "Y-Yeah." Choso stammers, flashing you a gushing smile.

You flip to the next page of the sketchbook and see two more drawings of Yuji but at different angles. "I think I know who your favorite is..." You say teasingly.

Choso chuckles, "I don't have a favorite."

"These drawings say otherwise..." You hum as you continue to flip through the next few pages.

Other images of Yuji and Choso's other siblings appear and you can't help but smile at each one. Eventually, you get to a page where the drawings go from portraits to anatomy; more specifically, hands.

You notice that each hand seems to be his own, all in different positions and angles. Your eyes skim page after page until you come across a set of hands that appear more feminine than the rest.

A narrowed gaze inspects the paper a bit closer and you can't help but notice how the hands on the page resemble your own.

"Cho..." You call out, glancing over to the man, "Are these my hands?"

There's a light shade of pink on his face but his eyes are down on the sketchbook you're holding. "Mhm." Choso hums quietly.

His timidness makes you smile before you continue. Steadily, the focus of his sketches transitions back to portraits and you soon come across a drawing of you. You can't help but cheese at the sketch-- Choso draws your features so beautifully.

The male leans toward you a little, "Like it?" He asks.

Your smile doesn't waver for even a second, "Like it? Choso, I love the way you draw me."

Choso finds himself smiling at you, his heart simply pounding in his chest. "R-Really? Wow, thanks...? I'm happy you like it so much."

"Love, Choso," You correct, turning to look at him, "I love it."

He holds eye contact with you but his face goes red as you utter those words to him, "They're uh, they're not even that good though..."

"They are to me." You argue, looking back down to the page, "I look so pretty in your eyes."

"You're pretty in everyone's eyes, princess." Choso complements.

You chuckle, "That's cute but no, I'm not. Thank you though, I think you capture my face better than my phone, honestly."

"I disagree," Choso says.

You look at him. "Why?"

"Cause' I could illustrate your face a thousand times over but..." His gaze softens as he thinks for a second, "Something always feels like it's missing."

Your brows raise a little, "Like what?"

"I dunno, you? It's like they look like you but they don't feel like you and I'm struggling to express that feeling on paper." He explains, "Which is why I ended up choosing graphic design and not fine arts, I'd be losing my mind if my career was based on this..."

You laugh at him, "Yeah, I get it."

After which, you start flipping through page after page again, beginning to see what the man meant when he said he draws you often. You're pretty sure you've seen yourself with almost every facial expression and every angle by the time you reach the end of the sketchbook.

"Seems like you express the feeling of me just fine on paper," You point out, "Well, at least to me."

"Nah," Choso denies, raising his hand to your chin and forcing you to face him. His eyes scan your face, "Every drawing in there is missing something."

"If you say so," You chuckle.

The male pulls you toward him, weighing himself to you at the same time as his thumb moves to outline your mouth, "For example; your lips." Choso sighs.

You blink, "They looked fine to me."

He shakes his head, "When I draw them, they lack warmth."

"I mean... they're sketches Choso, I'm not sure how-"

"Your eyes," Choso unintentionally cuts off, still tracing your lips, "When I draw them, it feels like you're actually looking at me."

A snicker leaves you, "So are you supposed to feel me kissing you when you draw my lips?" You ask in a joking manner.

Choso smiles, "I wish but no, that's not what I'm trying to feel." He then shrugs, "I just want to draw how looking at your lips makes me feel."

"I'm not sure I understand, Cho." You sigh.

"Every time I look at your lips, I wanna kiss you. Every time I look into your eyes, I feel... vulnerable. In my sketches, I feel that same vulnerability as when I draw your eyes but then I feel nothing when I draw your lips," Choso explains in full.

"I see..."

"That's why I said they lack warmth. The sketches don't feel like you."

You nod understandingly, "I get what you mean now."

"Mhm. And y'know I think it's because I study your eyes more than your lips," Choso continues, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down. He then licks his lips, "Maybe if we made out more I'd be able to draw your lips better."

Your eyes widen for a moment, then you start laughing. "Choso, you did not just use your art as an excuse to kiss me."

He gives you a toothy smile, "Oh no, I definitely did."

You commend him for his excuse by leaning in toward him and tilting your head, slowly connecting your lips with his. Choso struggles to control his smile whilst you kiss him and his hands steadily go to your cheeks, cupping your face in his palms.

It's now you struggling not to smile as both of you kiss each other passionately.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You wished every day could've stayed like that.

Such a time of bliss was something you'd been longing for amid your stressful troubles. To stay in Choso's arms for hours on end was something you'd plead for if it meant you could feel happy for some time.

Of course, all good things must come to an unfortunate end. And in your case, it wasn't an end but more of a... pause.

About one more week was the most you got to enjoy happiness with Choso. From your point of view, you could just not tell Gojo that you'd already slept with Choso, which prolonged the unlimited time you have for the list.

And it was wonderful not having to move on from Choso but, it did lead to a stronger attachment growing between the two of you.

It happened on a Friday afternoon. Something you stupidly didn't think about. A question you hadn't had an answer to, which led you down a path of regrettable decisions.

It was all fine at first. Shoko wasn't home, like always, and Choso was resting his head comfortably on your chest. His body lay slightly on top of yours and his arms were wrapped around you comfortably.

The two of you were watching TV together, almost like a couple in love. Whenever you laughed at something on the screen, Choso would smile at the sound and snuggle the side of his face into you.

At some point, an emotional scene came up on the TV and the words made the man on top of you begin to think. There was a couple arguing in the show about their relationship going public or something and damn the way it made Choso wonder.

For you, it was unexpected. The man shifted slightly, taking his eyes off the TV and looking around your room in thought.

After a moment, Choso spoke. "Hey, can I ask you something?" He requests.

Your eyebrows raise slightly as you look down at the man lying on you, "Depends," You tease, "What kinda' question is it?"

He chuckles, lightly but nervously. "It's uhm..." He moves around to glance up at you for only a few seconds, then he looks off to the side. "It's about us."

You bat your eyelashes at him and your heart freezes in your chest, "A-About us?"

"Mhm." He hums.

"Alright," You swallow, "What about us?"

Choso goes quiet. It's clear he's debating something, his eyes trail over to your face once more, and those sangria-colored eyes of his fill with uncertainty.

You return a curious stare to him before raising your hand to his face. Your thumb gently skims across the tattoo running along the bridge of his nose. Choso's hair is loose, dark strands messily flowing down and just barely reaching his shoulders.

Your small touch to his face provides him with this sudden sense of comfort, making him grin. "What is it, Cho?" You ask, your voice soft.

"What uh... No, I..." He trails off as he tries to find the right way to word his question. Choso swallows hard and shuts his eyes, "Okay. Do you like me?"

You chuckle at his sudden question, "I thought I made it pretty obvious..."

He sighs, "I'm being serious. Like, do you have feelings for me?"

"Uhm," You chew on your lower lip in thought.

Choso's eyes open and he takes in your expression, "Be honest with me, princess."

You smile, "Why are you asking me this all of a sudden?"

"Cause' I have feelings for you," Choso admits bluntly.

Your eyes go wide as if you didn't already know that. "O-Oh." You chirp.

"So," He sighs again, feeling as your thumb continues the gentle trace over his tattoo, "I wanted to know if you feel the same."

"I do," You whisper, seeing no way of avoiding this conversation.

Choso nods, "Yeah, I know." He then chuckles, "I just wanted to hear you say it."

You pout, "This isn't how I planned on confessing..."

"Welcome to my world," Choso hums teasingly. "Anyways, that wasn't my main question..."

"Oh?" Anxiety returns to your nerves again.

He stares up into your eyes, "See, I uh, I like what we have going on right now, I think..."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I like spending time with you, I like laughing with you, smiling with you..." His voice lowers and he glances off to the side, "I like fucking you," He murmurs softly before looking at you again, "I like it all, honestly."

"Okay... Where are you going with this Cho?" You question, your eyes narrowing a little.

He swallows, "Well... Do you like what we have going on?"

You're quick to nod, "Of course."

"Right so..." Choso bites his lower lip for a second, then releases it, "Is this all you want?"

You blink. "What uh... What do you mean?"

"I mean," The man shifts, pulling his face from your touch and propping himself up over you with his elbows, "There's no... label on us."

"Okay..." You trail off, worried about where this is going.

Choso sighs heavily, "How long are we going to be like this?"

"I-I don't know..."

"Don't you want to be something more?" Choso questions.

"I do," You hum, "But..."

His brows furrow and he tilts his head slightly, "But what?"

"Not..." Your voice lowers and you look away from him, "Not right now..."

He blinks, "Okay, but... can I know why?"

You shrug sheepishly, "I like what we have right now."

"I do too," Choso claims. "But, I'd also like it if we were... y'know..."

"If we were what?" You ask.

"Together." He answers straightforwardly.

Ah, here's what Gojo warned you about.

You chuckle slightly to try and ease the growing tension, "We are-"

"Officially." The man cuts off.

You look at him with pleading eyes, "Choso, we-"

"Publically." He cuts off again, his expression full of seriousness.

"So, what, you wanna date?" You ask.

Choso blinks, "Yes."

Your heart starts caving in. "T-This is an interesting way to ask me out, y'know..." You tease, again trying to ease the tension.

It's no use though, Choso's not in the mood to joke about this topic. He voices out your name in a low tone, making your body freeze beneath him.

"I'm not joking." Choso tells you, his eyes intimidating, "I wanna be yours."

Fuck, those words almost made you smile. Under any other predicament, you'd say yes in a heartbeat. But, you can't date Choso and finish the list at the same time.

You swallow hard and look away from him nervously, "Ch-Choso, I-"

"And I want people to know that I'm yours," He expresses. "Yes, I like what we have now but the unknown of it all... it bothers me."

"Unknown? Choso, we know what we have-"

"Do we?" He scoffs.

Your brows pinch together, "Yes?"

"I don't." He claims, "I mean, there's no title to it. I just can't help but wonder... What..." He sighs heavily and shuts his eyes again, "This is so cliche but, what are we?"

And there it was. The question you struggle to answer. It's a damn good question because, honestly, what are you two??

Choso lifts himself up some more before sitting up, "Are we fuck-buddies? Is that what this is?"

"N-No, we're-"

"Is this some kinda' situationship?" Choso asks further with a scoff, he seems upset now. "Cause' y'know, I'm just really confused. We hang out like friends one day, fuck like lovers another, and then..." He trails off, shrugging instead as he doesn't know what to say.

You move to sit up too. "I... Choso, I didn't realize you wanted to put a title on this..."

He narrows his eyes at you, "I didn't... at first. But then I found myself feeling weird when people stare at you whenever we go out or annoyed when your attention is elsewhere a-and... I can't say anything about this weird feeling because we're not in a relationship so..." Choso explains.

"Feeling weird? You mean jealousy??" You question further.

"Yes. That's exactly what it is, jealousy. I get jealous because of a lot of things and there's nothing I can do about it because we're just..." He pauses, then shrugs annoyed. "I don't even know."

You take a deep breath and keep your voice gentle, "So that's why you're upset, because you get jealous over things when you feel like we shouldn't and because you don't know what we are?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Choso tells you.

"Okay so-"

"Do you want me?" Choso cuts off, the question pouring out of him faster than he intends.

Your voice gets caught in your throat, "I... Of course-"

Choso moves again, his hands placed at the sides of your legs and his face coming closer to yours, "Then have me." He whispers passionately, "If you want me, have me.”

"I can't..." You murmur.

His gaze switches focus back and forth between your left and right eye, "But you can." He argues, moving to take one of your hands and hold it against his chest, "I'm all yours, I just need you to claim me."

You frown at the needs prodding at your insides. You want nothing more than to do such a thing but you can't.

Choso inches his face closer, his head tipping to the side and his lips nearing yours, "Tell me I'm yours," He whispers, now moving your hand to his cheek, "Let me be your boyfriend."

You inhale heavily, your breath shaking as you do so. "Choso..."

"Yes, princess?"

"I... I can't." You tell him regrettably.

Choso grits his teeth before turning his face to kiss your palm, "Why?" He whispers, "Tell me why we can't be together?"

Your heart throbs in your chest as you come up with the only excuse you can, "I can't do a relationship right now."

A moment of silence envelopes the two of you as Choso sighs into your hand with his eyes shut. He then pulls away slightly for just a second to shake his head in disbelief before planting a kiss on your palm.

"Right..." Choso mumbles into you, "Okay."

He then releases your hand carefully and turns his face to yours. You both meet eyes and he can see all forms of sadness within your gaze. Choso feels his heart waning at the sight.

Slowly, the man shuts his eyes and kisses you. You're not sure why he does it but you definitely don't fight it, kissing him back tenderly.

Choso parts from your lips slightly and whispers against your skin, "Whenever you're ready," He begins, causing you to frown immediately.

"Ch-Choso please-"

"You can call me," He continues, "I'll be there for you in a heartbeat."

You feel as though you're about to cry, "Are you... leaving me?" You whisper.

He nods, "I'm sorry."

Your hands go to his face again, cupping his cheeks in your hold as if to convince him not to, "Choso please, I just..."

His hands move to your wrists and he gives you a soft squeeze, "I can't do uncertainty so," Choso gives you one last peck on the lips, "I gotta go."

Another kiss is placed upon your lips and you try to push yourself further into it so that the connection never ends. Choso's heart feels heavy as his lips pry from yours.

With one final look into your eyes and a somber grin, Choso pulls your hands off his face. He then releases your wrists and moves to get off your bed.

You quietly watch him grab his stuff and move toward your bedroom door.

He then turns back to look at you one last time, "When you're ready for a relationship, I promise I'll be here."

You release a shaky sigh, "Please don't leave."

He frowns, "I can't stay."

"Choso..."

"I'm sorry, baby." He apologizes gently.

You bite your bottom lip, holding back the tears that threaten to pour out of your eyes.

With one last gaze and sigh, Choso tears his eyes off you and walks out.

And there you're left; alone.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

??? NAOYA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

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luveline · 9 months

Text

𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

things aren't the way you planned coming home with your newborn, but you have eddie there to lean on when things get hard (and an unlimited supply of 'munson-style' hugs). requested here. infatuated dad!eddie x mom!reader, 3k.

cw post partum recovery, reader is suffering from some symptoms of post partum depression

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"You're sure you can manage?" Wayne asks, his voice buzzing down the line.

Eddie peers out of the kitchen into the living room quietly. You're sitting on the sofa in a shape that can't be comfortable considering your recent stitches, the baby on your thighs where you've brought them together, your hands delicately posed on either side of his head.

"I think so," Eddie says, answering Wayne's questions with honesty. "She's feeling a little better today."

"It's hard, Eds. You take care of her and call me if you need help, okay? I'm proud of you. Both of you."

It catches Eddie off guard for a moment. He's done enough crying lately, clearing his throat to say, "Thanks, Wayne. Call me tomorrow."

"You call me, I don't wanna wake anyone if you're sleeping."

They say their goodbyes. Eddie leans against the kitchen doorway to spy on you and the baby. Babies cry more than he ever could've imagined despite the warnings, but it's quiet, too. There are moments of peacefulness like this one breaking apart the chaos.

You're whispering something. Eddie stands very still, wishing the dishwasher would magically silence itself. He strains to hear you.

"I love you," you say. "Sorry I'm tired, honey. I promise I'll be better. You're so beautiful."

Eddie bites his cheeks, wondering if his family (his family!) aim to make him cry and little else tonight. He gives himself a look in the mirror magnet on the fridge framed by a We Love Michigan border, rainbows and cute elk surrounding something less pretty. His hair is frizzy but that's nothing new, greasy at the top and dry at the bottom. He scrapes it back into a scrappy bun and wipes the oil from his face with his sleeves. He's in dire need of a shower.

Resigned, he steps out of the kitchen, new socks slippery on old linoleum before finding stability on the crush of carpet in need of a vacuuming in the living room. You look up and bless him with a smile.

You've had a bad case of the baby blues, though the midwife assured him that was normal, and not to worry unless it continued past the first few weeks.

Well, Eddie will worry. Any depression you experience breaks his heart, no matter the cause, and no matter how temporary it may be. Just 'cos a cut might heal doesn't mean it didn't hurt when you got it.

"How do you feel?" he asks cautiously.

You make a face that he knows precedes a lie. "Don't worry about me."

He sits on the arm to look down at the baby —his baby, his son— in your hold, your face moving immediately to rest on his thigh.

"I'm okay, teddy," you say.

"How about you?" he asks the baby, taking his hand gently.

The baby doesn't open his eyes nor answer the question, well and truly asleep.

"Do you think Charlie was the right name?" you ask, stroking his small face lightly.

"If we hate it, we can just call him Wayne."

Eddie's out of this world lucky that you'd liked the name and loved him enough to name the baby after his uncle. Charlie Wayne Munson, born six pounds and two ounces, the smallest baby they saw all week in Hawkins General.

"He looks more like a Wayne than a Charlie," you say, rubbing your cheek into Eddie's sweatpants.

"He's so fucking beautiful," Eddie says, getting his hand behind your shoulders. He gives your back a loving rub, up and down the whole stiff length of it. "Would you relax? Or tell me what's wrong? Please?"

"Nothing's wrong… Look how perfect he is, I'd be a freak to act like something was wrong," you say, the exhale of your words warming his leg.

Eddie rubs his hand up with a tad more roughness until the cinch between your shoulders has flattened.

"You're having a biological reaction," Eddie says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. "Don't feel bad about feeling bad, sweetheart. This is a physical thing, that's all it is. You're not a freak for feeling wobbly."

You relax even more, pad of your thumb swiping Charlie's smooth cheek.

"Want me to make you feel better?" he asks.

"How?"

"I'm not sure yet. I was thinking we'd make a list. Starting with a hug, quickly followed by something amazing to eat before Wayne wakes up."

"Charlie," you correct with a small laugh.

"Is there a nickname for Charlie?" Eddie asks. "What are we gonna call him? Lee?"

"We'll think of something," you promise.

Eddie isn't worried about it. He figures there's at least five years of nickname time to get one that sticks. For now, he has a list to make and things to do, and the first is making sure you're as well as you can be. He starts with the hug, pulling what you want for dinner from you one soft kiss to your temple at a time. Chicken pot pie? Ramen noodles with a fried egg on top? Sesame chicken? Triple cheeseburgers?

You can't decide. Eddie chooses breakfast for dinner. It won't take long —he can fry the sausage, eggs, turkey bacon and toast in one pan.

He keeps the door open to watch you, though nothing is actively wrong. You're deflated now rather than tense, petting and fawning over the baby as much as you can without waking him up.

"Just as handsome as your dad," you say.

It's a lovely sentiment but Charlie does not approve. He blinks awake, signified by your saccharine, "Hi, baby boy," followed by ten seconds of awe-filled cooing. Eddie's frying some bread in the pan but dinner can wait, he wants to see the baby with his eyes open again.

By the time Eddie reaches the couch, he's crying.

You move him carefully into a rock-a-bye hold and shush him. "It's alright," you say.

"He sounds like you."

"What?" you ask between shushes, hand tapping a slow and gentle rhythm into Charlie's swaddle.

"He sounds like you when he cries," Eddie insists.

Not your pained screams a few days ago nor your heart wrenching tears when you're feeling at your worst, but your hormonal sobbing. Like when you saw the commercial about the new 'shoplifters exposed' program on CBS that featured an old lady who stole a tangerine from the grocery store and got arrested despite her having alzheimers. She didn't mean to, Eddie, why would they make her cry like that? In fairness, it was a very upsetting commercial, but you cried for four hours, and for days afterward your eyes would well with tears and he'd know exactly what you were thinking of.

"When you're on your period," he explains. "When you know you wouldn't usually cry."

"You think so?" you ask.

"I think the solution is the same, too."

You nod your agreement. "He's hungry."

You and Eddie feed the baby with varying levels of success. Charlie doesn't wanna latch even though it's a bottle teat, causing some confusion —is he not hungry? Is he cold? No, sweetheart, he's not cold, he's got two blankets and the thermostat's at 68 Fahrenheit. Maybe he needs a new diaper? You check. His diaper's clean.

You're looking more and more defeated by the second. Eddie sits beside you to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. Babies are hard to look after, but he knows you'll both grow into it. You're exhausted from nine long months and a turbulent half day stint of pushing and crying and turning the bones in his hands into powder, your hormones are going crazy, and you're having a tough time. This won't be your forever feeling (though if it were to last, Eddie would stay at your side through that, too, that's not a question).

"You know what else works when you're not feeling good?" Eddie asks, offering his arms. He isn't some muscled herculean shape, but when you hand Charlie over, his arms look strong. Capable. Holding Charlie feels just as perfect as holding you. "A Munson-style cuddle," he finishes, trying to speak to his wailing son in that same bubbly parentese you've started talking in.

Eddie did a lot of talking to your bump while you were pregnant, but he was usually just trying to make you laugh. There were times where he'd lay with his nose against your hip and his arm under the bump, wondering about moments like this. What was the baby going to look like? What colour would his eyes be? What will it feel like to hold the baby in his arms?

Charlie feels lighter than Eddie first prophesied. Small. He has eyes like yours rather than eyes like his and he couldn't love it more.

Eddie takes the bottle when you offer it and sandwiches the baby to his chest. He doesn't want to condescend you, doesn't want to shoo you off, but Charlie's crying around the bottle and you look veritably miserably.

"Do you wanna go and make sure the food isn't on the turn?" he asks. When he realised the baby wasn't going to go down easy again he put your plates on a baking sheet and put the oven on low to keep it warm.

You hesitate. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I think so, sweetheart. We're barely a room away, alright?"

He's called you sweetheart more since the birth of your son than ever before, which is insane; Eddie's called you sweetheart likely twice a day since the day you met. That's a whole lot of sweethearts.

With the baby's changing mood comes a change in the weather. Eddie pats his little back, a quiet thump thump thump, while rain lashes the closed windows. The baby finally decides he's hungry, and the mood turns from frenetic to ambient almost immediately.

"You make sure you eat if you're hungry!" Eddie calls to you.

"Are you sure?"

"I think…" He drifts off, distracted by Charlie's long eyelashes, the way they skim under his eyes and the tiny noises he makes as he suckles. "Aw, baby," he murmurs, "good job. I knew you were hungry. You sounded just like your mom." He can't help grinning. Eddie is really talking to his kid right now, his real life baby. "You made her super emotional, but you're her whole world now. You're mine, too, obviously, but I'm cooler than this." He sighs. "No. I'm not. This is the coolest thing ever."

"What do you think?" you ask softly.

Eddie looks up. You're standing at the door, staring at them like they're made of sparkling diamond, every inch precious.

"Right. I think that we're gonna have to start eating when we can. Wayne never had a baby, but he said I was bad enough as a teenager, and Steve said he's lucky if he gets to eat a hot meal some days."

"Steve does have three," you say, frowning. "We really can't eat together anymore?"

You ask like you're less bothered than you are. Like a gimmicky Oh, man. Eddie knows it hides a real worry, and right now he's trying to give you the world on a silver platter, so he dots a little kiss on Charlie's head and says warmly into his skin, "No, that's not true. You're going to be such a good kid, me and mom will be eating together all the time. Isn't that right?"

Eddie looks at you with his head still tilted down. "I wanna eat together, okay? Everything's changing, but dinner doesn't have to. I just wanted you to eat 'cos you left half of your waffles at breakfast."

"I can wait."

"Then let's wait. You wanna come and hold him?"

"No, he's settled. I don't wanna mess it up again."

"You didn't," Eddie says, firm and sweet at once. "Sweetheart, come here. You didn't mess up, okay? I'm serious, come and sit with me."

You hesitate in the way. You're still unsteady on your feet despite the few days you've had to recuperate. Though your hair is cleaner than his it certainly isn't clean, nor are the clothes you've pulled on. Eddie read up and asked around on what would be comfiest for you, debating nightgowns and silk pyjamas at length, but all you've wanted to wear is a hoodie you've had since you were a teenager and a pair of sweatpants with fraying cuffs. He loves it —you look like an adorable dork.

Your stomach visibly churns. Eddie thinks you might chuck up, is already pulling the baby to his chest to place in the bassinet when you take a short, quiet gasp for air.

"Sorry, I don't know why I feel so on and off. I know it's just hormones. I promise I feel happy– I feel happy–" You gesture an open palm toward him. "He's gorgeous, Eds, he's everything I wanted and so much more, I just– I just feel like crying and I don't know why," you confess, blinking to suppress tears, shifting your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Eddie detests seeing you this uneasy, and he swoops in to correct it.

"Come here," he says again, no hands free to hold out to you. He hopes his voice is inviting enough.

You shrink into yourself. "I'm being weird."

"I like when you're weird. I kind of love it. I don't think we'd be in the mess if I didn't love it."

"It's a mess?" you ask.

"It's perfect."

You finally smile, creeping around the bassinet and the needlessly baby proofed coffee table to sit on the edge of the couch with him. Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat.

"Hear that? He knows you're here," Eddie murmurs, making room for you hopefully.

You sidle up to his thigh and lean on his arm, careful not to knock his elbow. You watch Charlie drink his bottle for as long as there's milk left, two ounces knocked back like it's nothing.

Eddie eases the teat from Charlie's lips carefully. With care but a clumsy imprecise manoeuvre, he lays Charlie down in the bassinet. He has a lot of hair for such a small baby, enough to stroke back from his forehead, soft under Eddie's fingertips.

"He's really, really beautiful," Eddie says quietly.

"I know," you say, an anxious hand on your cheek. "I can't believe something as good as him could come from someone like me."

Eddie stands between your legs, resting a loving hand at the slope of your shoulder. "Why would you ever think something like that?" he asks, his voice as soft as it's ever been, but with a smile in case you don't want to talk about it any more.

"He's… I'm just not…"

Eddie gives you time. You've needed it ever since you went into labour, time to piece things together.

"I really thought I was ready," you say, looking up at him with a pinch between your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your face. You don't lean into it. "Alright, I'm going to talk for a little while, 'n' I know you won't agree with everything I'm saying but I need you to know that this is how I really feel, yeah? Buckle up." Eddie bends down, unafraid of embarrassing himself because it's you. "I know you think these feelings are your fault… that this is some failing, like you're–" He drops his voice to a whisper, "Like you're being a bad mom already, but it's not the truth."

You startle at being read so easily. "Eds," you mumble.

"We knew this might be how you felt afterward, the midwife talked and talked about baby blues and you said–"

"I said I couldn't understand how I'd ever feel sad once he was born," you say, looking at his neck rather than his face.

"And that's fine, you know? You're not a bad person for thinking it would be perfect and then changing your mind."

"But he is perfect," you say.

Eddie rubs your cheek. "He's perfect, but this is hard. Being a new mom with your stitches and your aching tummy and all the gross fluids–"

You laugh through a groan, pressing your eye into his hand.

He leaps to keep it going. "This isn't how you expected to feel, but that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you feel like crying and don't feel fucking guilty about it, this sucks. You had to do the world's most tumultuous campaign for the last nine months and suddenly you're standing at the start of a new one that takes up, like, a gazillion pages with half health and an equally useless companion."

Your lips press into a thin line, but your eyes are soft and bright despite their obvious fatigue. You bracelet his wrist with your fingers and push his hand further into your cheek.

"My dork," you murmur.

"You understand it, don't you? Makes you an even bigger dork."

You nudge your nose into his palm. "I understand. Thank you, honey."

Eddie's not done. "You said you don't know how something good like him could come from someone like you? I don't think bad was a possibility."

Your second thank you is better. The first wasn't inauthentic, but this one sounds as though you genuinely believe him. Eddie bows down into a crouch to wrap his arms around you, the majority of his weight on your shoulders and avoiding your sore lower region, and the entirety of his love pressed to your cheek, a long, mindless kiss.

"I love you," you say.

Eddie tucks his head against yours, ignoring his protesting knees. "I love you, too."

Your food turns to dry mulch by the time you remember it in the oven. You're too distracted by Eddie's hug, his offering for a shoulder massage, and the subsequent second hug that ensues, your back to his chest, dozing in the sanctuary of his arms. Munson-style cuddles are his expertise.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you for reading!

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atinystraynstay · 3 months

Text

Game Night - Yoon Jeonghan

Synopsis: Jeonghan was the type of guy who joked around, the type to be not so serious. I guess that's why you never took his flirting to be anything more than him trying to get you to laugh. Jeonghan was now determined to make you see differently.

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x fem reader

Genre: friends to lovers! playful competitiveness with Jeonghan

Word Count: 1.8k

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"So, y/n, what are the chances of you letting me be yours for the night?" Jeonghan asked teasingly. "Maybe when you learn to stop cheating at Guess Who!" You groaned.

It was a typical Sunday night for you and Jeonghan. You two always had game nights together, ever since you can remember. Both of you were quite competitive, so you were equal competitors for one another. At this point, most of the members have given up on playing against Jeonghan anyways.

Jeonghan and you had become good friends over the past few years. However, you never believed Jeonghan was into you. He sometimes liked to flirt with people because he thrived on making people feel uncomfortable for a second before making them laugh. He definitely was a trickster.

Recently though, Jeonghan didn't see his flirting towards you as just teasing. He was starting to realize he was starting to like you. More than a friend. It took a lot to scare Jeonghan but what scared him the most was you ever finding out about his little secret. If anything, he amplified his flirting with you to try to keep his crush concealed for a little bit longer.

He was sure he would tell you eventually. He just didn't know when.

"I can't help that you are bad at dropping hints. Seriously, y/n. You make it too easy for me!"

You rolled your eyes at Jeonghan's antics. To anyone, they might find his confidence insufferable. However, to you, you found it endearing. Jeonghan was the man who could be silent when he needed to be, especially when encountering new experiences and new people. When he was comfortable and relaxed, he let his true colors shine.

You were just blessed to be one of the lucky ones who got to experience his entire rainbow.

"Okay, let's actually play this time. Honest and fair." "Honest and fair."

I his mind, the gears were turning. Sure, he wanted to win the game but he had an alternative motive. A lot was on the line.

"Have you selected who I am going to guess right?" You asked challengingly.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes playfully but he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Whenever he was around you, he found himself smiling brighter than ever before. You just managed to pull that side out of him oh so easily.

He also has never encountered someone who was maybe just as competitive as he was.

"Yeah, angel. I'm ready to watch you get frustrated. You're really cute when you get flustered, you know? I always love the way your nose scrunches up and you get a bit red in the face." "That doesn't happen,' you lied. "Oh right, it doesn't when it is with anyone else. I guess I just have that effect over you," he snickered.

You could feel your cheeks heating up the more he spoke. It didn't help he was staring you down with that smug grin on his face.

God, why does he have to be so damn attractive?

"Shut up," you muttered. "Let's just play, ok?"

He leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. He was easily amused by how easily he could make you crumble.

One of the very first things that Jeonghan noticed about you was how independent you were. You weren't afraid to call people out on their bullshit, and always felt the freedom to voice your opinion. You weren't the type of person who needed to rely on others to do something.

It was quite the treat to watch you lose your train of thought if he just looked at you. You often forgot what you were going to say the moment Jeonghan said something flirtatious to you. He almost didn't register the possibility of you liking him back until he noticed how you looked away to try to conceal the wide smile on your lips and pink blush coating your cheeks.

The two of you have been doing this waltz around confessing your feelings for a while now. And frankly, Jeonghan was getting tired of playing that game. He wanted something new.

"Pretty ladies first," Jeonghan announced.

There you go again, blushing at his words. It was almost too easy.

"Does your person have facial hair?"

He took a moment to act as if he he had to think about it. You raised an eyebrow, knowing that he was up to something but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"Oh come on, Hannie, we just started. There's no way you forgot already who your character is," you teased.

His heart fluttered every time you called him that petname. A lot of people called him Hannie. But when you say it? It was music to his ears. It made him feel all warm and tingly at the prospective of him being exclusively yours and you being all his.

"No, my character doesn't. I was just trying to make you annoyed again," he snickered.

You rolled your eyes but kept a light smile on your lips. Anyone else would be underneath your skin, but he just had this way of finding his antics endearing. Your pointer finger got to work at flipping down the 8 characters you successfully eliminated.

"So, my sweet girl," he began. Oh, here we go. "Does your character have glasses?"

You smirked as he guessed incorrectly. You looked up at him with this look of amusement on your face. Honestly, he has never found you more attractive than when you let your competitive side free. He liked a challenge.

And getting to be your man was his greatest challenge yet.

"No strike, buddy. Better luck next time."

You and Jeonghan continued going back and forth like this for a few rounds. Jeonghan had still had six character cards flipped up, whereas you only had one. You were about to go in for the kill.

"Is your person Charlotte?"

Finally! You beat Jeonghan!

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's incorrect," he smirked.

Your eyes grew wide as they flickered between the game board and Jeonghan. That was impossible. You had literally one character card left. Your eyes narrowed on him as he just sat there with a wide grin on his lips. He had his elbows resting on the table as he watched I amusement.

"You said honest and fair this time," you whined. "And I have been honest! You were asking for my person, and all the things you were asking did not match up with who I selected." "Oh really now? Okay smartass, prove it."

Gladly.

Very slowly, Jeonghan got up to make his way over to you. You raised an eyebrow, but with each step he took towards you, your heart beats faster and harder. What was he doing? You wanted to question him but you were drawn speechless. Again. Only Yoon Jeonghan could make you tongue-tied. It was as if you were glued to your seat too as you watched him make the short journey from his end of the table towards yours.

"I'll describe my person to you. Maybe you accidentally flipped them down."

His voice was now softer, almost deeper. What is going on? All you could do was nod your head, eyes trained on him in anticipation.

"My person also has these eyes that quite literally are like two disco balls. They capture whatever light is reflected into them. I can't even tell you what color their eyes are because I've never see a shade like it before. But it is my favorite color." He had now approached your side the table, leaning against it as he looked down at you. "And just as bright of a smile to match."

You wanted to melt into a puddle before him with how warm and fuzzy he makes you feel by just doing the simplest of things. It wasn't fair.

"My person has long hair. Sometimes they curl it, somewhat they straighten it. Each time though, I want to run my fingers through it."

As he spoke, he lifted on hand to run through your hair. He tucked a few strands behind your ear. His fingertips moved forward until they grazed against your cheek. He didn't miss the opportunity to cup your cheek, keeping your head tilted up towards him so you couldn't look away no matter how badly you got flustered.

"My person also has this infectious laughter that makes me want to know every little joke, every little secret they might have. She also has this adventurous, competitive side of her that is so attractive. I think you two would get along just fine," he winked.

Your lips were slightly parted as you gazed up at him. This had to be a dream, right? There was no way this was actually happening.

"Y/n, you asked for my person. It's been you this whole time," he whispered.

For the first time, he seemed almost at a loss for words. It as if he couldn't believe he actually confessed to you. And now that his feelings were out in the open, he was afraid of the repercussions of being so vulnerable with you. His biggest fear was losing you, and he was afraid he was heading in that direction.

Slowly, you stood up. In fear, Jeonghan removed his hand from your face. Fuck, how can I fix this?

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he didn't hesitate to hold your waist. He looked at you with excitement now in eyes, almost like a little boy on Christmas Day. You couldn't help but giggle at how adorable he looked.

"What are you waiting for, Hannie? You've got me where you've always wanted to me," you whispered.

He didn't need to be told twice. Ever so gently, as if you were made out of glass, he pressed his lips against yours. He couldn't fight the smile that grew on his lips. He squeezed your hips affectionately before pulling you in closer. You tilted your head at the right angle to kiss him deeply, without holding back anymore.

The feeling was indescribable. It was a mixture of joy and relief, knowing that years of pining after you finally amounted to this moment. He could really let every emotion, every thought of you free and not just dwell in his mind. And the best part was that it was reciprocated.

You were the one to break the kiss at first but kept your face close to his. You wore a similar goofy smile, just as in disbelief that you kissed not only your best but but the man of your dreams.

"I can't believe you used a board game to confess your feelings to me." "But it looks like I won after all," he smirked.

You rolled your eyes playfully before leaning up to press your lips against his again.

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mooshywrites · 3 months

Note

Hello there, I just wanted to start off by saying how much I adore your works!

Would I be able to request the companions reacting to a drow reader who is surprisingly kind and gentle but is still treated with distrust by people? I always found it odd how none of the companions reacted to Tav being treated poorly due to being a drow, especially considering how out of there way they go for others!

Thank you so much!

A/N - I know it would probably be wayyyyy too much game data to include tons of class and race specific lines, but this one I really feel like they should’ve gone into! If anyone reads this and has free time, do some research into drow and especially driders. It’s all a fascinating world

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Masterlist

art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Wyll -

~ Wyll was suspicious of you in the beginning, as much as he hated to admit.

~ It changed when he heard how you went out of your way to save a little tiefling boy from a gaggle of harpies

~ After that, he paid a lot of attention with how different you were to the drows he had heard of

~ He asked casual questions about your background, not so subtly trying to figure you out

~ The longer he knew you, the more he took issue when people would lump you in with the drow stereotype

~ Instead of confronting people, he filled every conversation when meeting someone knew with little tales and jokes about how great you are. How the group would fall apart without your kindness in direction

~ “I wish the world would see you the way that I do.”

Karlach -

~ Karlach was one of the most non-judgmental people you knew. To the point that she was one of the first people to treat you no different to anyone else

~ It also took her a bit to see the difference in how others treated you

~ She couldn’t quite wrap her head around why people treated you like you were shifty, all she knew was sunshine and rainbows when you were around

~ It took you crying for the first time to really heat Karlach up

~ It had been a long day and a shopkeeper refused to sell you any healing potions. He thought you were going to poison them and resell them

~ All the stress of the day caught up with you as the shopkeeper yelled, tears stating to run down your face

~ Karlach ran red hot, flames jumping from her body as she got all up in the storekeepers face

~ You were able to leave with an armful of free health potions, a very warm kiss on your forehead, and a very smiley Karlach herding you back to camp

~ “Anyone ever talks to you like that again, you just come tell Mumma K”

Astarion -

~ Astarion actually had the nerve to be disappointed when he realized how sweet you were

~ Everyone in camp seemed to have such high moral standards, he was hopeful at least you would lean more towards debochary

~ The annoyance didn’t last long though, it was hard to have a frown when you were near by

~ He might’ve acted exasperated by you bringing home a new less fortunate every night, but he was all grins when you weren’t looking

~ It gave him some hope, seeing you break away what everyone thought you were

~ You had people from all angles acting like you were one step away from pillaging their home, but you never offered anything but kindness.

~ “You make me feel like I can be a good person, too.”

Lae’zel -

~ Lae’zel didn’t see much point in being overly kind, so you mostly just confused her in the beginning

~ She couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t just go along with the stereotypes. It would probably be easier in the long run

~ What she couldn’t understand even more, though, is why she felt anger every time someone spoke down to you

~ Often times, she’d have quite the strong words for whoever was insulting you

~ The days she were also the nights she spent trying to convince you to act meaner

~ She was convinced it was the only way you could make it through the journey without being attacked from every side

~ You simply shook your head and told her you’d always choose the gentle path

~ “Chhk. Fine. I will be mean enough for the both of us.”

Halsin -

~ Halsin was much too old to believe in most stereotypes. But even you surprised him

~ He often watched you in the evenings, watched how you interacted with the various critters you brought home

~ You were so gentle and attentive, you didn’t even know ‘Speak Animals’ but you understood them completely

~ It warmed his heart to see how nature and all it’s charges reacted to you, it genuinely seemed that even the birds were attracted to your presence

~ He couldn’t even take people seriously when they spoke down to you

~ Their opinions were meaningless to him because he just couldn’t imagine you being anything other than lovely

~ Instead of arguing, he’d shower you in compliments afterwards, always making sure to patch up any piece of your insecurity that they had left

~ “They may not know it, but I and nature can see what a blessing you are to the world.”

Shadowheart -

~ Shadowheart was annoyed with how quickly she came to love and trust you

~ Something about your smiles and attitude were absolutely infectious, and she wondered how you kept it up when everyone thought you to be evil

~ She was even more impressed with how you brushed off naysayers comments

~ She’d tease you pretty often, she was the one who started calling you “The Gentle Drow”

~ As much as she affectionately tease you, she absolutely hated when people tried teasing you back

~ Even if it was good natured, or even coming from a companion, the tease was met with a very harsh glare from Shadowheart

~ She would outright shush people you didn’t know if they tried to insult you. Usually people dropped their jaw at the interaction

~ “Speak ill of my friend again, and I’ll relieve you of the use of your tongue.”

Gale -

~ Gale was absolutely fascinated with you

~ He didn’t really have an expectation of you being horrible, but he found it interesting that ‘The Hero of Farun’ was such a gentle and shy clutz

~ He often spoke to you as if he was talking to a science project, trying to get to the bottom of what made you so kind

~ He was thankful you were, it reminded him about how much people could decide for themselves

~ It surprised him when people insulted you, he was mostly shocked people had the gall to say things to your face

~ He was even more taken aback when, every time, you let the comments go, offering only kindness in return

~ Gale quite enjoyed walking around in public with you, almost cataloging how you interacted with people

~ Anytime you looked particularly weary from the constant abuse, he never failed to offer a joke

~ Once, a kid ran past, pointing at you and yelling that you were here to pillage the town

~ Gale simply picked up the edge of your scarf and put on a stoic face

~ “Not to worry, citizen. My drow is on a tight leash.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 day

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

[2.7K] loosely based on the movie float, lifeguard!steve, a summer full of swim lessons. mentions of drowning, eventual smut 18+

SWIM LESSON SCHEDULE

LESSON #3

You didn’t have to wait seven whole days to see Steve again, and when you did, it wasn’t poolside.

This meant that between you both, there were a lot more clothes than normal, but you found out the hard way that that fact didn’t really make a difference to the effect he now had on you. There was a party at some rich kids house on the outskirts of town, someone called Sam that neither you nor Eddie knew all that well but Robin used to work with him at the Shake Shack and well-- if Robin was going somewhere, Steve followed, and if Steve was allowed through the door, that meant Eddie had a ticket in too.

If Eddie was there? High chance you were too.

It’s how you ended up in a neighbourhood that rivalled even Steve’s, each house sprawled out across green manicured lawns and the pools out the back were almost as large as the one you were learning in, a shiny red slide to boot. Three stories, arched windows, a winding driveway to a three door garage and when you entered behind Eddie, the crystal chandelier in the foyer was vibrating to the beat of the music.

Two guys you recognised from the trailer park grabbed Eddie as he pushed his way through the crowd, your fingers hooked in his as he dragged you behind him. They were ready with cash, bills rolled up and an eagerly impatient look in their already glassy eyes, so you waved the boy away and headed to the kitchen, a safe enough sanctuary as you skirted around the makeshift dance floor that had been created in the living room. It seemed that anyone over seventeen and anyone under thirty was at the party, the large space full to the brim with drunken strangers, people moving to the synths of INXS.

The pushed back furniture made it difficult to move around the gyrating bodies, Sam’s parent’s cream coloured carpet already stained and sticky with questionable substances. The lights had been switched off and someone had strung multicoloured Christmas lights around the curtain poles, around the second chandelier above the coffee table. There was a broken disco ball sitting in a wall sconce, pink and green and blue hitting off each mirrored tile, making everything glitter.

You saw Steve before you could make it to the kitchen, rainbows on his cheeks, a stripe of colours across his lips. He was talking to a girl - a pretty redhead who had a drink in one hand and Steve’s bicep in another. The sight of him made you feel as warm as a saturday morning, as if you were walking into water with his naked chest in front of you, his pink cheeks and sleep mussed hair just for your eyes only. It felt almost unfair to see him now, surrounded by others, touched by someone else. He looked just as pretty with a striped shirt on, his hair styled and curling around his ears and neck, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket as the other gripped a beer.

His gaze caught your own, a fleeting thing before recognition clicked at the sight of you and then Steve was moving, the redhead’s fingers catching at his sleeve before he was in front of you, her frown behind him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Steve was smiling, eyes drinking in the corners like he was genuinely happy to bump into you. He craned his neck and spotted Eddie, raising his beer in greeting. “You want a drink?”

“Uh, yeah.” You smiled back, heart in your throat because Steve was placing a familiar hand on the small of your back in order to steer you into the kitchen and Eddie was grinning, a full beam that made your cheeks warm. “A drink sounds good.”

You let Steve pour you a vodka and lemonade, and he fumbled an ice tray he found in the back of the freezer, the fizz spilling over the rim of the glass as he handed it to you with a grin. You watched him lick the soda from his fingers, his eyes on yours as he smiled still, his cheeks a little pink and it felt like you were back in middle school and the pretty, popular boy was giving you too much attention.

You weren’t sure why, but you lapped it up happily.

Taking a gulp, you hummed, happy that your drink didn’t burn on the way down and Steve stayed close, his hand gone from the small of your back but his shoulder bumped yours and you could smell his cologne, leftover sunscreen and hairspray.

“You ready for lesson three tomorrow or are you planning on getting black out?” Steve asked with raised brows. “I gotta tell you now, legally, I’m not covered for drownings due to hangovers.”

You rolled your eyes, lips lifting into a smile you tried to suppress because you had absolutely no intention of getting messy drunk in the vicinity of Steve Harrington, with or without the threat of swimming the day after.

“It depends,” you joked anyway, “what does lesson three include?”

Steve smirked, leaning close, hair falling across his forehead and you could see the freckles over his nose, the glint of the chain he wore flashing under the collar of his t-shirt. “M’not sure I should tell you now.” He was all charm, a cheekiness you normally didn’t get to see up close. “You might stand me up.”

You scoffed, a dismissive sound that barely covered your embarrassment because you were sure that your eyes were wide enough to show off how flustered you were. You took another long sip, lemonade and bubbles coating your tongue and you watched Steve stare at the way you licked the vodka from your lips.

“I wouldn’t stand you up,” you murmured, barely heard over the thud of the music.

The boy beamed, ecstatic. “You wouldn’t?”

“Not unless you were planning something drastic, you know, like swimming.”

A laugh burst from Steve’s chest, his eyes shining with an amusement you were proud of producing. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, spreading his feet wide enough that you were able to stand between them. Not too close, not too suggestive, just close enough to each other that girls glared at you and no one tried to interrupt.

“Swimming? In a pool?” Steve cocked his head to the side, one hand nursing his beer, the other reaching out to poke at your side. You squirmed, amazed at how such a friendly touch seemed just as intimate as his hands on your bare back, keeping you afloat. He frowned at you, all faux confusion that made him look unbearably cute. “Who the fuck would think of that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unable to stop smiling. Come to think of it, your cheeks ached a little, your grin permanently etched onto your lips since you saw Steve, whether it was from being flustered or amused. Your cheeks felt hot, your chest light and you barely noticed anyone else in the room.

It’s why you jumped when two hands caught your shoulders, a diabolical cackle in your ear as you recognised the scent of smoke and old spice a little too late. Eddie smelled like childhood and home but now, standing in a strangers kitchen with Steve Harrington, you couldn’t have been less impressed with your friend’s appearance.

“Hey, there’s a good chance I can shift the last of this green if I hit up this party on Maple Street,” Eddie half yelled over the music, his arm draped over your shoulder in a too familiar way. You wanted to elbow him. “You comin’ with or—?”

He was glancing at Steve over your head, brows raised, suggestive and waiting on an answer from him rather than you. You swallowed hard, noticing how Steve had seemed just as disappointed as you at Eddie’s arrival but he shrugged, nonchalant. “I could walk you home later,” the beer in his hand glinted in the low light, his fingers tightening around it. He smiled, eyes soft, “I don’t mind.”

You wanted to say yes. Fuck, you wanted to say yes so bad and the word was costing your tongue, buzzing and excited, a fizzy candy explosion. But you took too long to look at the boy, tanned skin and messy hair, scruff on his jaw that he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning, the freckles on his cheeks and neck that made you want to touch them.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kissed a boy, never mind one you really liked. And perhaps that wasn’t even on the cards, maybe Steve didn’t like you in that way at all - but the idea of being alone in the darkened room with strangers, people you didn’t know and people who wouldn’t care if you fell into each other - it suddenly seemed a little too much for one night.

“Um, it’s— it’s okay,” you told him regretfully. You hated the way his eyes seemed to lose a little warmth, his lips turning down before he righted himself. “I should probably just go with Eddie.”

“Pussy,” Eddie coughed, barely concealed and Steve stared at the ground, cheeks pink.

You really did elbow your friend then, the sharp point of your arm finding his rims and he kicked at the back of your heel, childlike in the way he scuffled to get you back in a way that really wasn’t subtle.

“Thank you, though,” you smiled at Steve, hopeful that he’d return the gesture. He did, although not as warm as before, not as confident as he’d been as he’d guided you to the kitchen with a wide hand on your back. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, right?”

Steve sank the last of his drink, licking it from his lips before nodding. He was already back out of the kitchen and you tried not to look defeated. “Yeah, ‘course,” he told you. “See you in the morning.”

“Well,” Eddie watched Steve retreat, his hand slapping down on your slumped shoulder. “You fucked that, didn’t you?”

Steve was already in the pool when you arrived the next morning, still sleep mussed and frazzled from the way your alarm had blared too loud. Despite three weeks of early mornings, it was still a struggle to pull yourself from bed. But the promise of a warm day, pink-blue skies and Steve Harrington made it so much easier than you ever thought.

You paused at the loungers for longer than you needed, your toes curling at the thought of stripping off your shorts and shirt because the swimsuit underneath was newer and skimpier and cherry red. Steve was underwater, swimming effortlessly beneath the surface from the shallows to the depths you weren’t brave to venture to yet.

So you took the opportunity to pull off your t-shirt, a ratty old thing that used to be Eddie's and you cursed picking it up from your floor, hoping Steve wouldn’t get the wrong idea despite how many times you’d told him that Eddie was just your friend.

You let it fall to the sun warmed tiles just as Steve broke the surface, pushing his hair back with one hand as he grasped the edge of the pool with the other. He grinned when he saw you, a familiar and friendly thing that made your heart jump but his gaze darted to your chest, just for a second, just for a tiny moment, and you remembered to feel shy.

“New suit?” Steve asked, sounding casual, his brows raised as if it didn’t really matter what the answer was.

You wondered what he’d say if you told him you’d bought it with him in mind, what he’d say if he knew you’d stared at your half naked frame in your bedroom mirror for far too long, inspecting each curve, each bruise, all the old silver scars and stretch marks, stripes along your thighs that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. This suit dipped low in the back, as modest as it still was in the chest. Would he think your boobs were too small? Too big? Too flat? Uneven? Could he tell?

Would it matter?

It was a vibrant colour against your skin, the same red as the cherries you’d scooped in your smoothie before you’d left, a shade off of Steve’s lifeguard shorts. It seemed too bright now, too silly, but you nodded regardless and tried not to make a big deal out of it.

Steve leant on the pool edge, chin resting on his tanned forearms, water dripping from his wet hair, clinging to his too long lashes. He tilted his head, appraising, gaze gentle, never staring. “S’nice. Colour looks good on you.”

His words made it a lot easier for you to unbutton your shorts and slip the denim over your hips. Chin ducked, you couldn’t hold eye contact, not bold enough quite yet. But you let the shorts drop from your thighs, hitting the tiles and you kicked them under the sun lounger as you flicked off your sliders at the same time. The sun was already blazing, rising higher in the sky, turning the tangerine edges into a warm blue and the heat of it slipped over your skin like a blanket.

Feeling a little less naked than before, you walked to the shallows, Steve swimming the length of the pool to meet you. You stopped just shy of the stairs, lips pressed together and brow furrowed, contemplating. Steve stopped too, watchful as you considered your next move the boy positively beamed when you dropped down to sit at the edge of the water.

The surface lapped at Steve waist when he stood, not too deep but certainly not the gentle entrance you’d become accustomed to. You cringed as you slipped both feet into the cool water, hands curling around the edge of the pool until your knuckles burned.

“Yeah?” Steve coaxed, sounding impressed. Proud. “You’ve got it. You can just slide right in, you’ll touch the bottom.”

You knew you would. The logic was in front of you, just like the bottom of the pool was very much visible. Looking down, you could see Steve’s feet on the tiles, rippling into funny shapes and sizes, his bare legs, just as tanned as the rest of him and dusted with coarse hair. He was planted there firmly, no current or waves to knock him over, steady as ever.

He lay his hands on the top of the water, palms up. His gaze met your own, his smile warmer than the morning. “I’m right here.”

It was comforting, his words, his closeness, even if you didn’t take his hands, he kept them there, waiting. It was enough for you to lean forward, bum slipping off of the warm tiled edge and into the cool water. You gasped as always from the shock of the temperature difference, the water rippling around the tops of your ribs and it was enough to make your nipples pebble, glaringly obvious under the new, thinner material of your suit.

If Steve noticed, he didn’t dare look down.

He did take a step forward though, enough for his toes to touch yours and you could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose, could see the chlorine water that still made his lashes cling together in spikes. It was intimate enough to make you wonder if something like this would’ve happened the night before if you’d stayed. If you had let Eddie and the boy shaped comfort blanket that he was go, if you’d hung back with Steve and shared secrets and drinks under the multicoloured lights, if you’d let him walk you home under the glow of street lamps.

If he would’ve kissed you at your front door.

But then the gate clanked noisily against the chain link fence and there was a splash big enough to soak your chest and the side of your face - Steve’s too - both screwed up in shock.

Eddie appeared from the water - the deeper, indigo coloured end - shaking his sopping curls like a wet, disobedient dog, his tattooed chest bare and much paler than Steve’s. He grinned through his curls, oblivious to whatever he’d just interrupted, his arms spread wide.

“What’s up, fuckers?”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot

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mrchiipchrome · 4 months

Text

Glass Child

W.C. - 6 k

--------------------

The middle child. Often known as the “forgotten” sibling, the one who never gets enough love, never enough attention, the one who’s never enough.

Never the one to blow out their own candles on their birthdays, never the one to get driven to their evening practices even when it was rainy and muddy. Never the one to get told they’re loved, nor that they’re enough. Never the one to be the favourite.

Yet always the one to listen to their parents argue late into the night, always the one to be blamed, always the one pressured to do great academically. Always the one who has to prove and find their place in the family, yet never actually finding it.

One older brother and one younger sister, that was what you had, one sibling on either side of you for every family photo but never for anything more. Your brother was out of the house before you could turn 6 and your younger sister was what your parents liked to call a rainbow child.

She had nearly died at birth after all, not enough oxygen going to the brain leading to slight mental disabilities and getting all your parents love. You weren’t even sure they had ever told you that they were proud of you. No, all their attention was always on Lila.

No matter how much you vyed for their attention, no matter how many accomplishments you had, the trophies and diplomas you brought home, their attention was always on Lila.

Lila, the golden child. Lila who could do no wrong. Lila who even after screaming and punching you, would get a hug and kiss on the head.

You, who were left to raise yourself. You, who were never enough for them, never good enough to be loved and cherished like your sister or even your brother who had left you. You, who had the weight of the world on your shoulders with no one to help carry it.

Every footballing tournament you’d ever had would be about Lila, what did Lila want? Was Lila comfortable? Does Lila want to go home?

Well that was when they actually made the effort to come, something you could count on one singular hand how many times they’d done. No, to sit through a few minutes of football for their daughter to feel needed and wanted was far too difficult for them.

Anything not involving Lila was far too difficult for them. Anything not revolving around herself was far too complex for Lila to comprehend, the second your parents looked away from her she was kicking and screaming and they were forced to look at her, whilst you were left unloved and unseen.

So when your brother started to visit once a month, you couldn’t have been more excited. There would finally be someone to be there for you, someone that would look at you for once, appreciate your existence.

Well he started out like that. He’d come to your games and cheer you on, he’d take you out for ice cream after just the two of you. For the first time in your life you didn’t feel invisible.

But then as time started to pass, he came home less and less, until the visits were so few and far between that he practically disappeared from your life. Gone were the days of feeling wanted and needed, you were back to being a ghost in your own life.

Even coaches started to forget you, it was like you just blended into the background, like you were invisible.

Then slowly, your teammates started to ignore you too, barely even looking at the shell of a person you were during exercises. And slowly you started to accept it, the role of the ghost.

You put your head down, working even harder in school and on the pitch, only this time it was for yourself and not for anyone else.

Slowly it got harder for your coaches and teammates to ignore your ever growing presence, but it was made easier for them when you ignored them back. It might’ve not been the best coping mechanism, but it was one nonetheless.

When you got the offer to play at a big youth academy, you just ran home to tell your parents, purely by a combination of hope and excitement. It was in your excitement that you completely forgot who they were.

“MUM! DAD! I got into an academy in the city!” You shouted as soon as the door closed behind you, football bag with only the essentials in it dropping to the floor loudly.

“What is this ruckus Y/n. You know better than to interrupt Lila’s sleeping time. Pick your bag up and go to your room right this second young lady.” Despite her shouting louder than you had, you were still the one who got in trouble.

“But I just wanted to tell you-” The words come out defeated, your parents not once being happy for you taking a toll on your entire being.

“But nothing.” She says sternly, pointing to the stairs. Head pointing towards the floor, you don’t let her see the salty tears forming in the corners of your eyes. She wouldn’t care anyway, not when her precious Lila still existed.

The walls shook with the amount of force you used to slam the door closed, the shouts of your mother lighting up the corridors like fireworks. The tears finally escaped when you were in the comfort of your own room, throwing your bag down to the floor harshly.

The bag wasn’t your source of frustration but once again it didn’t have any feelings either, it couldn’t see or feel, neither could it gain consciousness. So, it was the best thing to take out all your frustrations on.

But no matter how much you kicked and punched, no matter how many bruised knuckles you got from the hard materials inside the bag, it still didn’t get better.

Your parents weren’t going to magically start to care for you just because of some bruises, not when you had come home with far worse and they still hadn’t cared. You didn’t exist to them, their lives only revolved around Lila, the sun to their earths.

Picking up a plastic figurine from the ratty old desk you had inherited from your brother, you launch it across the room and directly into the wall. With a pop, the head of the Captain America figurine separates from the body, rolling across the hardwood floor almost mockingly.

When the realization of what you’d done hit, you dropped down to your knees with a thud. Picking up the scratched and broken toy off the floor, you clutch the parts to your chest tightly like they would disappear if you loosened your hold ever so slightly.

How could you break the only thing your brother had ever given you? ‘Keep it safe for me, yeah?’ He told you when he left the house you grew up in the last time, he had said that he didn’t need it where he was going. You knew in the back of your mind that he wouldn’t care about the broken state of the toy, but the overwhelming and conflicting feelings waging a war inside you amplified your emotions tenfold.

You weren’t used to this, crying. No, it was much easier to compartmentalize your feelings, to experience your feelings rationally and not as emotionally as you just had.

But it seems like the feelings were far too strong this time, creating an earthquake of sorts in your mind that opened all the drawers of the imaginative dresser where you stored all your emotions. And so they hit you all at once, all the negative emotions and thoughts crashing into you like powerful waves.

Eventually there were no tears left to fall, empty sobs escaping your mouth every now and then, face buried in your knees with your back up against the wall. Breathing in deeply, you lean your head back against the colorless wall, wishing you could be anywhere but there at that moment.

Bringing your hands up to your face, they slowly fall back down to your sides, your muscles relaxing for the first time since you had come home. There was no point in just sitting there and sulking, the pitch not too far from your house calling your name.

Walking over to the bag, you open it up and pull out the old boots, they were falling apart at the seams but that didn’t matter. They would work another 6 or so months, as long as you stitched them back together.

The window creaked as you opened it up, throwing your now closed bag onto the bushes that lined your house. Climbing over the ledge, you sit down on the wooden lining, hands coming down to clutch the material tightly. Turning your body around, you lower yourself down until your arms are fully stretched out, pressing your feet to the wall and pushing your body away from the building.

Landing on your feet, you hurry to pick the bag up off the bush with calloused hands, the years of carrying the bag back and forth from training having taken its toll on your hands. Quick steps echo in the night air, nearing the uncared for pitch in record time.

Soon enough the thwack of your boot hitting the ball over and over is the only thing that can be heard, cleats ripping into the grass and pulling up the deep brown dirt underneath it. By the time you were done your knees ached and your feet were even worse, the boots not the most comfortable things in the world.

With some luck, you manage to find a ladder at the corner of your house, leaning it up against the brick wall of the house and climbing up it carefully. When you’re safely inside your room, you push the ladder away and close the window.

It becomes a routine of sorts, wake up, go to school, take the bus to the academy training grounds, train, go home, study and then go out to the pitch for another 2 or so hours of football. It was good, out there you could forget everything and just focus on getting better.

And that you did, quickly becoming one of the best youngsters not only in your academy but also in the country, much to your surprise. Life wasn’t slow and boring anymore, it was fast paced and fun for you.

Months passed by, a U-15 call up hitting your desk a single month before you turn 13, leaving you to celebrate your birthday alone in your hotel room. There was no way that you would tell a bunch of strangers of such a trivial thing, it wasn’t like they had even noticed you there, they already had their friend groups.

Thankfully, you seemed to have impressed the right people as you got called up time and time again after, showing everyone why you deserved to be there with strategic kicks of the ball and passes not even most professional players could make. It came naturally after so many hours of playing and subsequently watching people play.

Camp after camp you watched your teammates interact with each other, see them laugh and smile with their friends whilst you were on the outside looking in. It was no longer a problem, being alone, an expectation rather than a surprise.

Luckily enough for you, the senior call up happened only weeks after turning 16, leaving the older girls to take you under their wing. It was certainly…different, a completely new experience.

You had finally reached the top that you’d yearned for, getting recognised for being one of the best footballers in the entirety of England. The years of invisibility far gone, now praised enormously for the efforts you made during each and every game.

It got overwhelming quickly, all the attention from coaches and outlets alike only fuelling your need to perform, leading to countless hours spent out on the muddy pitch. Football, no matter how stressful, was your reprieve. Your savior of sorts.

You’d think after countless hours spent with your football that your passion for the sport would burn out, but in your case all it did was reinforce your spirit.

At 17 you got the option to either sign a professional contract with your youth club or go to America for college football on a full ride scholarship. Your decision to choose the latter of the two was less than popular with your parents.

“Mum, dad. Can you two give me your attention for once?” You question, sitting at the dinner table only meters away from where they’re washing the dishes.

“Why don’t you wait until the adults are done?” Your sorry excuse of a father shoots back, chuckling with your mother.

“I’m going away for college soon. In America.” The clanging of utensils hitting the metal surface of the sink interrupts the tense silence created by your statement.

“What did you just say?” Her tone was dangerously sweet and calm, almost trying to lure you into a false sense of security.

“You heard exactly what I said. There is no opinion to be had here, I was simply paying you two the courtesy to know.” Despite your tone being nonchalant, you were anything but. Leg bouncing up and down anxiously under the table, fingers fidgeting with each other.

“No. Y/n Y/l/n you are not leaving us to fend for ourselves, not like your brother. We need you here, Lila needs you.” Your mother basically pleads with you, reaching across the table to take hold of your hands.

Before she can even try to get near them, you pull them back towards your body harshly.

“Oh so now you need me? Now that I’m leaving you need me?” Your father has his arm slung around your mother’s shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down against her arm. “What about all the times I needed you two? All of the countless tournaments I participated in only for the coaches to ask me where you two were. You two have caused me so much pain and embarrassment.”

“That’s unfair, your sister needed us more.” Your father tells you harshly, eyes drilling holes into the sides of your head.

“So? I couldn’t get one second of your time once a year?” You ask incredulously, their eyes widening in exasperation. “Me leaving for college isn’t even going to change anything, all you two do is care about Lila.” The last part comes out mumbled, so that the two adults in front of you couldn’t hear.

“I do not care for what you have to say, you are not going anywhere.”

“And why not?” The card up your sleeve hasn’t been played yet, you wanted to revel in their expressions.

“Because we’re the adults here and we decide.” He responds lowly, as if trying to intimidate you.

“Oh but you’re forgetting something. As of an hour ago I am officially 18 years old and I get to decide whether I go or not.” You have to keep from laughing when their faces drop almost comically, eyes wide and jaws on the floor.

And so without much protest, they let you leave your childhood house only days later, getting on a plane out to North Carolina. It didn’t matter that the official season hadn’t started yet, you just wanted to get away.

Weeks passed by before any familiar faces appeared, the Brits you’d met during your stint in the youth groups of the national team. They were part of the main friend group, hugging and laughing with each other every second they got.

In reality, you had found them rather annoying at that age, shrill voices interrupting the otherwise peaceful environment. That’s why you could often be found in your hotel room, studying or messing around with a plushie football.

This time around you had been informed that you were to share a dorm with one of them, something you weren’t that opposed to. They were all nice after all, just a bit loud.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but we do in fact have another Brit here in the team, someone the two of you have probably encountered before.” The loud voice of one of your American teammates floats through the hallway leading to your room, the notes just about getting through the music streaming into your ears.

“Oh shit.” Rushing to close all the open books on the table in front of you, the light knock on your door is heard through the bustling. “Come in” You let out nervously.

“Alessia, Lotte meet our resident Brit, Y/n Y/l/n!” The jazz hands coming from the older American doesn’t hide the absolute mess of your room. Your suitcase was laying messily on the ground, your body the only thing in the way of the war stricken look of your table.

Sticking your hand out towards the women, there’s a slight crash behind you, face scrunching up in a way that suggests that you were uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry for the mess, I completely forgot about everything I was supposed to be doing today.” They both shake your hand, the brunette taking a firm hold of your hand whilst the blonde grasps your hand lightly with her much softer one.

The blonde looks around the room, a bed on either side of the room, one looking occupied and the other one bare.

“So Y/n, Alessia here is going to be sharing this dorm with you, plenty of time to get to know each other before the season starts.” All the American accents were hard to get used to, often quite startling.

You both nod your heads, not finding much to say regarding the arrangement. Alessia gets a pat on the back from the older student, letting her suitcase drop to the ground carefully.

“Come on then Lotte, let’s get you situated!” As soon as they appeared, they disappeared out of the messy room, Lotte following after the American like a duckling would its mother.

As the door closes behind them the room gets covered in a thick blanket of silence, Alessia still standing where she stood coming into the room and you with your back now turned to her, picking up the papers.

“Please excuse the state of our room, I completely forgot that you were coming.” The words fall out of your mouth clumsily, your social skills still not up to par.

“Oh I understand, don’t worry.” Her voice is honey-like, smooth and sweet, almost like a Disney princess. When you turn back around the first thing you notice is her incredible beauty, something you didn’t exactly see before in your nervosity.

“You’re in the senior squad right?” She asks, looking back at you with her baby blue doe eyes. Her intense gaze leaves you to clear your throat loudly, eyes blinking vigorously.

“Yeah I am.” The pitch of your voice peaks up at the end, leaving your statement to sound more like a question than anything. Her melodic giggles fill the room, your heart thumping painfully against your ribs at the sound.

“Are you asking me?” Her hands come up to tuck the hair that’s fallen in her face back behind her ears, her eyes scanning over your pajama clad body.

“Yeah I am.” You say more confidently this time, trying to right your earlier wrong. “Wait, wait, no” Her laugh mixes with yours this time, Alessia’s adorable expression lighting up the room. When the laughter halts, she stands up more straight with her hand out towards you, ready for you to take with your own.

“Come on, take my hand.” The forward urges you playfully, her head tilting a fraction to the right. Her hand feels warm in your own when you grasp it, a soft smile sent your way by the older girl making your insides all warm. “Hi, I’m Alessia Russo but my friends call me Less.” Alessia decides that the crease that appears between your eyebrows is adorable, her eyes flitting over your face.

“We’ve already been introduced?” This time the questioning tone is meant, genuine confusion plaguing your mind.

“I know, but just humor me for a second, okay?” The warmth flooding from your hand up throughout your body seemingly gives life to the butterflies fluttering their wings in your stomach. An unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling.

“Hello, I’m Y/n Y/l/n but my teammates call me Ghost or some variant of it.” You reply cheekily, hand coming down to rest at your side.

“Why is that?” She speaks up, a confused tone lingering in her voice.

“Because I’m a ghost from the 1700s that’s haunting this college.” Raising your hands up above your head, you let out an ‘ooo’ sound imitating a ghoul.

Her giggles start back up again, the midday sun peeking in through the blinds, leaving pale stripes on the dark floor. The comfortable silence between you two stays for a while, neither one of you really moving from where you’re seemingly glued to the floor.

Eventually she turns back to her bag, starting to unpack her luggage tentatively, not really knowing where to put her things.

After some thinking she seems to get a bit more comfortable, throwing her stuff here and there still making sure to keep to her side. The headphones resting over your ears play no music, allowing you to hear her humming under her breath, singing softly to the tune.

In the months that passed after your official introduction quite a lot happened. For starters, the college season started after a lot of struggle on your and Alessia’s part, Lotte fitting in with the other girls almost immediately. The blonde had a sense of protectiveness over you, the clear lack of social skills on your part making her pay extra attention to you to make sure that you weren’t alone.

Though there was that awkward moment when the striker asked you where your parents were after the first game, because surely it was too important to miss. The worried glance she shoots you when you make up a half-assed lie about them not getting enough time off to fly out and watch you.

Needless to say, you spend the rest of that day in the library so that she can show her parents around the campus. And like the very mature 18 year old you are, as soon as you hear the sweet accented voice of your teammate in the quiet library you shoot up from your place on the old bean bag, weaving through the rows of books in order to escape your roommate and her happy family.

It wasn’t your fault per se that you were slightly jealous of her having parents that cared for her, and it sure as hell wasn’t her fault that yours were the way they were. It was better to just stay out, so that you wouldn’t get attached to a family that wasn’t your own.

Later that night, when her parents had left for their hotel, she questioned you intently on where you were the entire afternoon. Another lie followed, you telling her that you just had things to do, things that you couldn’t tell her about.

She eventually let it go, but not before giving you a suspicious glance through the corner of her eye. You clearly weren’t good at lying, something she could see rather easily.

“So, Y/n, do you wanna have breakfast with me and my parents tomorrow? They’ve been dying to finally meet you.” She asks, sitting down on your bed, her legs dangling off the end. Her hand comes up to lay on your leg, goosebumps rising on your skin whereupon her hand rests.

A blush rises on your face, both at the question and her hand. You hadn’t even realized that she’d told her parents about you, but now it was obvious, parents in the movies always asked their kids all about college.

“Oh uhm, you know, I don’t want to intrude on your time with your parents.” Lifting your hand up, you make the motion of waving her off, not expecting her free hand to take yours.

“You wouldn’t be, they asked to meet you since you were so ‘busy’ today.” Her eyes stare into your soul, still soft and caring. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Alessia’s baby blues look down at the pattern on your blanket, her hand on your leg tracing the patterns into your skin.

“NO, no, believe me Alessia, I would love to go…” Your voice trails off softly, looking for the correct words so as to not reveal exactly why you were hesitant.

“But…” She continues your sentence.

“But I’m not good with people, and I don't want to give them the wrong impression of me. Family’s important for you, from what I’ve heard, and I just want yours to like me.” Somehow her eyes soften even more, the blonde girl moving up the bed to settle beside you, her arm snaking over your shoulders. Your head lands on her collarbone, one hand still holding onto hers tightly.

“Don’t you worry, if I like you, which I do, then they will like you as well.” She smiles down at you, faces inches from the other’s.

A knock on the door interrupts the moment, the loud noise making the two of you jump apart. The door opens with a creak and Lotte pops her head into the room, a large smile on her face at your and Alessia’s seeming closeness.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” She asks teasingly, Alessia immediately shooting her the meanest glare she could muster up, though that was like being glared at by a marshmallow. Your face on the other hand was redder than a tomato, the insinuating words making you nervous.

“No not at all, I was just about to leave for my evening run, I’ll see you both later!” You basically sprinted out of the room as soon as you had shoes on your feet, taking to jogging your normal round more than once.

By the time you were back in the dorm room, your feet were aching unpleasantly and your blonde counterpart was asleep. It was a begrudgingly difficult task to tiptoe around the room without waking the blue eyed girl, but in the end you managed not to wake her.

Though she’s not nearly as careful the next morning, stomping around like a maniac and making a bunch of noise for you to wake up to.

“Less, what are you doing? Let me sleep.” The last word of your sentence was drawn out thoroughly, groaning as you stretch out your body.

“Nope, no time! We’re meeting my parents in 20 minutes at the cafe.” She comes up and boops your nose before letting you spring up from the bed, rushing around the room at 100 km/h, gathering up all your nice looking clothes and letting Alessia choose the optimal pairing.

All the way to the off campus cafe you were stressed, but the way Alessia’s hand fit so snuggly in your own was a little comforting. She knew about your anxious nature around new people, even if those people were the least judgmental ever.

“It’s going to go great Y/n, my parents already love you, trust me, there’s basically no way that you can make them hate you.” Her words soothing you more than she’ll ever know, your shoulders feeling like they’d had a massive weight lifted off them.

With newfound confidence, you get through the breakfast like a champ, even enjoying the entire thing. Alessia’s parents were everything yours weren’t, they were kind and generous, loving and sweet and all around great people. You wondered what it would be like to grow up with parents like them instead of yours.

And it seems like you made a good first impression on them too, because as you and Alessia said your goodbyes they gave you the warmest hugs you’d ever gotten paired with a big kiss on the cheek.

Alessia couldn’t understand why you burst into tears as soon as the two of you were in the comfort of your own dorm. It came so suddenly, the tears that seemed never ending and the sobs that echoed around the small room.

As soon as Alessia heard the first sob escaping your throat she turned around, being met with the sight of your hands covering your face, trying to subside the tears streaming down your face.

“Hey, hey, what happened love? Why are you crying?” Her voice grows worried quickly as her hands take hold of your forearms. She tries to remove your hands from the premise of your face, thinking that you’d hurt yourself.

“It’s nothing, it’s just…your parents are such wonderful people and I guess I just wish that mine were the same.” You regret the sobbed words as soon as they exit your mouth, of course you would be so stupid as to tell her about your parents. Now you’d have to tell her the truth about them, there was simply no avoiding it.

“Oh, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean?” Her voice is softened, like when talking to a baby, and her arms hold you tight against her chest. Alessia’s hands move from your forearms and down around your back, rubbing her hand up and down softly.

You’d known each other for months yet the topic of your parents hadn’t come up once. It was funny really, the way that they’d destroyed your childhood.

Inbetween a couple sniffles you begin the whole story, speaking slowly so as to not burst out in tears at every broken memory, every missed game, every single thing they’d not done for you.

“Uhm, I don’t really know where to start, but I know it all started with the birth of Lila, my sister. She was a…difficult pregnancy for my mom and uh when she was born there were complications. She didn’t get enough oxygen to her brain and uh that led to her being disabled, not enough for it to impact her life but enough for my parents to uhm…get attached to her. She’s their ‘rainbow baby’ and it seems like everything she’s ever done overshadows any of my or my brother’s achievements. It’s like as soon as they brought her home from the hospital both me and my brother were invisible. But he was lucky, he got to go off to uni within a year of her birth, me? I had to wait 14 years to get out.” You let out a humourless laugh at the end, not even looking the blonde in the eye after she tried to get you to.

“They never came to a game, no matter how big of a deal it was, they always let my sister blow out my candles on my birthday cake and they gave her more gifts on MY birthday than they did me. You want to know what they did when I told them that I had been recruited by an academy? They told me to shut up because my sister needed rest. On my senior team debut they left early because my sister wanted to get ice cream, it was the one moment for me to show them that I didn’t need them to be great, do you understand how embarrassing it was to look around for your parents after scoring twice on your national team debut only to see that they’re not there? The embarrassment of being asked why you’re not celebrating with your family? Of being worth so little to the people who made you that they couldn’t even be assed to sit for ninety minutes for their daughter? All I’ve ever wanted was for them to notice me, love me, care about me, but all that wishful thinking went away that day. I no longer cared for them or anything other than my teammates and footy. So yeah, that’s the entire story.” You didn’t even notice that you’d been talking for the past 30 minutes nor that tears spilled out of both you and Alessia’s eyes. When you finally looked up and in her eyes, they were filled with salty tears just like your own, tears that fell quietly and slid down her face peacefully.

Bringing your hand up, you quickly wipe her face softly, her baby blues enhanced by the layer of tears over them, slight redness to the whites of her eyes.

Alessia’s eyes bore into your own, her eyes expressing hundreds of feelings, everything from sorrow and empathy to love and kindness. It’s not until she looks down at your chapped lips that you finally understand what it is you’ve been feeling since you first met her again after so many years.

It wasn’t nervousity or stress, it was love. Pure, genuine, unconditional love. You were utterly in love with the striker. And by the way she was inching her face closer to yours, she was pretty in love with you too.

Your lips meet hers in a soft and innocent embrace, all your emotions spilling into the kiss. Her lips were soft and they tasted of strawberries, her favourite chapstick the same taste.

Your lips moved against each other’s softly for just a moment shorter than you wanted. Her eyes were closed as you opened yours just a sliver, observing the way one of Alessia’s hands comes up to touch at her kiss swollen lips softly.

When her eyes finally do open, they’re met with still tear stained cheeks and a big happy smile. The baby blues meet yours and they instantly see the love and adoration in them, it’s so obvious that she nearly starts crying again.

“Okay love, before we talk about what just happened i want to say that your parents missed out on the best person I’ve ever met. You are so wonderful and beautiful and you have so many wonderful people who love you to death, me being one of them. During the last few months that you have been apart of my life you’ve showed me that it’s possible to love someone more than anything. You have endless passion for football and for your friends, you’ve inspired me to become a better person simply by being you and that’s one of the most amazing things that I’ve ever witnessed. You’ve done a better job at raising yourself than most parents do with their kids and I want you to know that I’m so proud of you. I can’t comprehend how they could be so blind that they missed what a wonderful person you are. I’ve loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you, your hair a mess from pulling at it and books scattered all around the room. I love you so much that it feels like I’m going to burst whenever I’m around you.” You can see the sincerity in her eyes as she looks at you, smiling ever so slightly.

“I love you too Alessia. I’m so in love with you that I’m going mad.” The way she picks herself up from the floor has you convinced that she’s going to leave you there where you sit on the floor, all alone. Only that’s not what she does, instead she holds out her hand for you to take.

“Come on love, go get cleaned up so I can take you on a date.” Her hand playfully taps your behind as you walk away towards the sink to wash the tears off your face, and you turn around to glare at her playfully.

5 long years later and you’re lifting the Euros trophy alongside your co-captain and subsequent maid of honour Leah and your longtime girlfriend soon turned fiancée.

All you could think after she said yes was how incredibly lucky you were to have someone like her in your life.

#woso #alessia russo #unc soccer #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #lionesses #arsenal wfc

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elvensorceress · 10 days

Text

not quite tuesday tidbit teases

it's probably tuesday somewhere and this just popped in my head and I wanted to share. what do you think? do we want more?

tagging if any of you want to share something 😘 @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @messyhairdiaz @rainbow-nerdss @tizniz @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @monsterrae1 @diazsdimples @watchyourbuck @wh0re-behavi0r @911onabc @chaosandwolves @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rogerzsteven @epicbuddieficrecs @bekkachaos @fiona-fififi @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @the-likesofus @hoodie-buck @lover-of-mine @mikereads @jesuiscenseedormir @lemonzestywrites 💕

It’s just after midnight and Buck is going to bed.

He’s been saying this for a couple hours but YouTube had too many AItA videos and Instagram had those gorgeously edited food recipe posts and he doesn’t even want to talk about the doomscrolling of TikTok. But he had a day off and it was supposed to be with Tommy so they could take the weekend and go somewhere fun and romantic, but then Tommy had to work. Buck could’ve gone in with the rest of A shift. But it was nice to have some alone time for himself so he took time for himself.

His phone goes off with a call five seconds after he’s gotten into bed. It’s a number he doesn’t know. So he could ignore it. Or wait until they’ve left a message. But who would call at this hour for no reason? Or for scamming, telemarketing reasons?

So Buck answers.

“Buckley?” The man on the other end says. He sounds vaguely familiar but not enough that Buck came put a name or face with a voice.

“Uh, yeah? Who is this?”

“Mehta. Captain Mehta. Of the 133.”

“Oh, hey,” Buck says, automatically friendly and smiling. That makes sense now. “What’s up? Why the— why are you calling?” Why would he call in the middle of the night?

Why does anyone call in the middle of the night.

“Buckley,” he says and it sounds… it sounds… it sounds like…

They have him now. They’ll take care of him. Why don’t we get you cleaned up. He’s in good hands. They’ll rush him to surgery. You don’t have to worry. Let’s get you cleaned up.

Lets get you cleaned up.

Buck can’t breathe. His whole body is cold. Frozen.

He tries to get out of bed. He tries, but just slides to the floor beside it. He doesn’t make it any further.

“Buckley, there was a helicopter crash. Your team, our team we went to rescue the pilot. Your, uh, sorry, I don’t know what you call him, but your boyfriend? Life partner? He—”

Oh god. No. No, that’s not. That’s not happening. That is not what is happening right now. This can’t be a, Tommy is dead and I’m letting you know. It can’t be that. It’s not. They were going to—

They were supposed to have a romantic trip together. Wine tasting and some kind of museum Tommy thought Buck would love and maybe a visit to a hot springs up north and they were going to watch the sunset and the sunrise and—

And he can’t be dead. He can’t be.

“He’s alive,” Mehta says. “We’re at Cedars-Sinai. He’s alive, but. It doesn’t look good. He’s in the ICU now. He’s critical.”

Buck pushes himself up. Has to. He has to be there.

He barely remembers to thank Mehta or even end the call before he switches off his phone and runs out the door.

The drive is a blur. The drive is probably very illegal and he doesn’t know how he doesn’t crash, but he doesn’t have time to wait for an Uber or for anyone else. He runs as fast as possible to the ER lobby, and almost runs directly into Chimney.

Not almost. Buck crashes into him and almost knocks them both to the floor but that almost actually is an almost because Chim somehow steadies them both.

He’s pale. Shaken up. His eyes are red. He’s been crying.

“Chim,” Buck says as broken as he feels. “Chim, where— where is he? What happened? How did this happen? Please tell me he’s okay. He can’t be dying, right? That can’t be happening?”

Chim opens his mouth and grips Buck’s arms tighter, still trying to steady him. “Buck, we— we don’t know yet. It was bad, but he’s tough. You know that. He could be fine.”

Buck lets out a broken whimper and backs away from him. “No. He is fine. He’s fine and this isn’t happening. I just— Chim, I just found him. I can’t lose him already.”

There’s a flash of something on Chimney’s face but there’s movement around Buck, too. Other people. Bobby, he’s pretty sure. And Hen. They would be here. They would try to comfort him. But they don’t need to because it’s fine. Everything is fine and this isn’t happening.

It can’t be happening.

He can’t be dying.

There’s more movement and it’s all blurry, probably filtered through tears, but then everything stops. The world stops.

Tommy is right in front of him. Whole, alive, real, a little rumpled and there are bloody scratches and bandages on his face and around his arm. But he’s here. He’s fine.

Buck slams into him, throws his arms around him, and sobs as he clutches him.

“Baby,” Tommy says softly as he hugs Buck tightly, cradling him, comforting him, and Buck can breathe. He’s not frozen. Everything is okay. They were all wrong. Buck knew they were wrong. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Tommy tells him and holds him tighter.

Buck pulls back just to look at him. “No, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He takes a deep breath and smiles because Tommy is fine. He’s right here and everything is good. Buck touches Tommy’s battered face and caresses him gently. He’s bruised and also pale, and very soggy. It’s been stormy tonight. Another reason why Buck wasn’t all that eager to go out in it. “They told me— fuck, they scared me. I thought— I thought I lost you. I was so scared. I don’t want to lose you. He told me—Mehta, Captain Mehta— he called and told me there was a helicopter crash and my boyfriend was in the ICU and he’s critical and it didn’t look good, and I can’t— god, I can’t. Tommy, I—”

Tommy’s face isn’t good. It’s pale. Bad. Not smiling. Not relieved. It falls and he can’t even hide the devastation on it. He looks like guilt and death, and his mouth moves but nothing comes out. “Evan,” he finally says, barely says. It’s too quiet, too broken. “Evan…”

No. No, Buck doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want to throw up right now. And he just might. His heart is rabbit speed lightning and his legs don’t exist anymore and there’s an awful blackhole of apocalyptic world-ending destruction swirling and growing in his stomach.

Someone takes his arm. Someone needs his attention. He’s moved from Tommy’s arms because there is no safety or comfort anymore. There’s no relief. There’s no happily ever after, nothing will ever be okay.

Buck knows why Mehta said what he said. He knows who isn’t here. He knows who would have come to him and immediately comforted him.

He knows.

He knows what this is now. It can’t be that. It can’t. Buck doesn’t know anything.

Hen tells him. She holds his arm and says calmly even if it’s broken. Everything is broken. They’re all broken. “Buck. It’s Eddie.”

No. No, it isn’t. It isn’t that either. Buck really can’t take that. It was bad enough, unimaginable enough the other way. It can’t be this.

He’s already done this. They did this before. More than once. Forty plus feet of cruel earth and a whirling burst of metal and blood all over him.

Eddie’s blood was all over him.

“The helicopter went down and got stuck on the cliffs. He went in so he could pull Tommy out, and we got Tommy out,” Hen tells him, every word a knife stabbing through both of them. All of them.

“He saved me,” Tommy says, quiet and full of regret. “He saved me and went down with it. They thought it was stable enough. It wasn’t. They got him out after. But…”

Buck collapses to his knees on the floor and holds his head in his own hands as if he can somehow hold himself together when there’s no holding himself together.

It’s Eddie.

It’s Eddie it’s Eddie it’s Eddie.

Buck shatters like flimsy glass and sobs in all the pieces that are ripped out of him. What about Chris? What about Abuela? What about Eddie’s parents and sisters and friends and everyone else who loves him?

What about Buck? They can’t be BuckandEddie without Eddie.

“I need to see him,” Buck suddenly says to the closest person who will listen. “I need to be with him. Please. Please.”

There’s arguing that happens. Bobby yells at someone. Hen, Chim, and Tommy stay around him like a protective guard. Until someone finally agrees. He’s not in surgery, they can’t take him to surgery yet. He’s not stable enough. But he’s on a ventilator, life support. They warn him and Buck doesn’t care. He knows how bad these things can be. He’s lived through several.

They give him five minutes.

They’ll have to drag him out with an armed guard if they think Buck will agree to only that. But at least it’s something.

It’s something.

Eddie is mostly covered. Blankets, wires, tubes, IV lines, bandages. He’s paler than all of them. Slightly blue-purple, cyanotic. They tell him a few things but Buck can’t hear them. He just wants to be with Eddie.

Buck sits beside him and rests a shaking hand over Eddie’s hand, under the blankets where it’s trying to be warm. Buck would give anything to keep him warm, and alive.

Eddie needs to stay alive. He needs to.

Buck rests his forehead on the side of the bed near their joined hands. He would say something if he had the capacity to form words and sentences. The only thing in his head right now is, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.

And that’s probably all he can say. All that really matters.

Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please, don’t ever leave me.

(read now on AO3)

#tease tidbit tuesday #jenwyn wip #buddie wip #mentions of #bucktommy #but this is me okay lol anything and everything is about buddie #911 #buddie #fic: if i should fall

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